DOROBO

They said it would take much longer for it to happen.  Thousands of years, in fact.  But I vividly remember the day it went red.  The moment the orange faded to a deep, dark abyss.  It looked like blood at first, a swirling pool of death in a star-splattered sky.  Like an oozing wound, releasing its final breath of life in a single moment, plunging our entire world into darkness…

-Nitra Sayomi

PART ONE:

MISSION DELEGATED

Thane

“Don’t look down,” her fearless glee sounds fuzzy through the mask.  It’s a red day.  All of the streets are blanketed in a foreboding ruby hue.  The color streaming down from the Dome’s artificial lights indicates the air quality.  Right now, masks aren’t optional.  Two minutes.  That’s how long we’d survive without them.

I place my foot deliberately upon the plank of wood, keeping my eyes glued to the red stained makeshift bridge that stretches across the empty expanse between the two buildings.  I don’t dare glance below me; all I’ll find is emptiness, then forty feet below: solid ground.

“Come on, princess,” she snorts, her voice a shivering bass stifled by the mechanics of the life source strapped to her face. 

I ignore her and slowly inch my arms up for balance, wavering briefly before regaining my confidence on the board.  If the distance between buildings had only been a foot shorter I would have jumped across.  She knows this, but she taunts me anyways. 

My next step is wider; I manage to make it halfway across the plank when I feel it sag underneath my weight.  My heart quickens and I accomplish my third and fourth step in an unbalanced haste, then jump down beside her, my solid boots slamming upon what once was some type of shrubbery.  Now its decaying body is nothing more than a blackened blemish upon an empty home. 

All Dome Surface areas are smeared in darkness.  Wherever a plant once bloomed, a dead dye now takes its place.  The poison took an immediate toll on plant life. 

I glance down at the empty space I’ve just successfully crossed over.  There’s nothing below us except for the ground. Some empty containers scoot along the floor, sucked in by the C duct at the end of the alley, inching across the lifeless decay of the Dome’s streets. 

I heave the plank up from the ledge and drop it onto my shoulder; now it’s my turn to prod fun at her, “So, you wanna carry it?”  My voice reaches a congealed scratchy depth that makes it almost impossible to understand me, but I know Nitra’s heard, regardless of the fact that she’s moved on without even acknowledging my words.

The next ledge is the last, and thankfully short enough to jump.  I place my piece down upon the gravelly ledge and slide it out over the open space until it collides with the brick building on the other side.  I take three carefully measured steps backward and begin my running start before I can ponder over the broken space I’m about to thrust myself across with no restraints.  But the fear never seeps in long enough to affect my leap, and my feet are firmly planted upon the roof in the five or so seconds it takes for Nitra to make it across the board. 

I can barely hear her mechanical utterance of “show off.”  We leave the plank where it is, already in place for our return trip, and she falls into step behind me as I move soundlessly to the boarded up entrance below our feet.

I bend low and slide my fingers along the boards until they slip into the catch; I lift with all my strength and Nitra catches the ricochet before the lid slams to the floor.  She slowly places the piece down and I catch the muffled sounds of a conversation far below.

My finger collides with where my lips would be as a precaution and Nitra nods in assent.  No one should be here.  The next delivery is supposed to be in six days; this was supposed to be intelligence gathering: names, dates, quantities and times.  A complication this early on unsettles me.

I drop my feet into the empty space and place my hands on either side of the void, then I lower myself in.  My feet silently stop on the nearest beige file cabinet and I step carefully down onto the floor, gradually, heel to toe, purposefully slow and gentle. 

The room is empty save for the cabinets encircling us.  The door on the opposite side of the room is closed, but in the crack, where we normally find blackness, there’s a faint pulsating yellow glow that flickers in and out of view.

Nitra’s down the hole and at my side as soon as I reach the door, her small feet making not a single sound against the floor.  I place my hands on the ground; the thick carpet is grimy against my fingertips and likely hasn’t been maintained since the sun died.  Like all the other buildings on any part of the Surface, Dead or Domed, this one has been a long time out of maintenance.    I work my way slowly forward and get in close to the crack, still incapable of deciphering any of the words the unlikely visitors are exchanging.  It doesn’t help that the unknown persons have their masks on, forcing their masculine tremors incomprehensibly deeper. 

I place my ear to the crack under the door and the square face of my mask presses against the nasty carpet; I’m forced to inhale the years-worth of excrement that’s built up since the building’s abandonment.   I choke down the cough in silent misery. 

“Well, what are we supposed to do?”  The man’s tone is lost to the mechanical workings of the breathing apparatus, but his ferocity is clear in the hastiness of his speech. 

“There’s nothing to do but wait for the next shipment.” 

There’s an angry slam as something collides with the wall, “I don’t have the liberty to wait two weeks.  I need it.  Now.” 

“Maybe we could… recruit one of them?  I mean, they’re obviously good at stealing.”  Who are they even talking about?  I feel there’s been a subject change, but I don’t understand it.

“One of them working for us?  I don’t like any of the bloody Dorobo.”  There’s a sharp intake of breath from beside me, what sounds like an out of tune accordion, and I shoot my head up to send Nitra a frantic shake of my head, my finger again moves to my face to silence her.

But it’s too late. 

“Did you hear that?”  Bellows conspicuously from the room next door and I’m on my feet and sprinting carelessly up the cabinets in the time it takes the cartridge dealers to throw open the door.  They burst into the room, guns raised, shots firing without question, bullets ricocheting against walls and whizzing audibly past my ears.  But we’re already on the move and out of the hatch, breathlessly navigating our escape route across building tops. 

I don’t hesitate.  I don’t think once.  I don’t calculate.  I don’t consider the splattering death that awaits me if I misstep even by an inch. 

We’re rooftops away when I realize no one’s followed.  The bullets have ceased and the sounds of heavy footfalls have faded away.  I turn back and find Nitra’s right on my heels, then I see the dark outline of two stationary figures, the only part of my environment not drowned out in a blood red light. 

They’ve stopped, a few buildings back from us.  “Filthy Dorobo!”  The man’s scream barely reaches my ears, “Next time I catch your rotten mask I’m piercing your brain with a bullet!” 

Nitra flips her middle finger into the air and we watch the man’s right arm rise from his side, then I hear one final shot exit his weapon; I throw my body out and pull her down with me, not a consideration for the impact of the solid cement against our bones.  The bullet wizzes over our heads, missing by mere inches, and we’re back on our feet in half a second, resuming our sprint across the rooftops. 

It’s become habit now.  We’ve made this same trip more often than we can count.  It’s like maneuvering the back of my own hand, every movement, crease and scar is engrained in my brain.

Then, I fall. 

Nitra

Thane’s hit the ground.  Hard.  I can hear the slap of his skin against the pavement, the sound of flesh snapping at the force of his collision.

“You okay?”  I quickly bend low so I’m at his level; he rolls over and looks up at me, a low groan escaping through the crisscross cuts in his mask.  My fingers slide across the front casing, revealing his O2 cartridge-it’s a natural reaction whenever someone falls. 

“Thirty-two,” I assure him.  It’s not a lot of Oxygen, but it’s also not too low to have had any effect on his balance.  I slide the casing shut and try not to stare too long at his mask.  It’s horrifying, everything about the black plating that covers every inch of his face.  His entire head is well-protected, unlike the rest of us. 

“Must have been a rock,” he laughs at himself and my lips relax the frown that had cut itself into my cheeks.  I breathe another sigh as he heaves himself up into a sitting position, his arm strewn out lazily on his knee. “Way to give us up.”  He’s not angry, even though I can’t really gauge his tone through the mask.  No, we both know he enjoys the thrill almost as much as me.  Almost.

“Sorry.”  I begrudgingly mumble; the creepy crawly discomfort continues to ebb through me, so I voice my concern aloud, “I just don’t get it.  They can’t believe we took it.  A whole delivery’s worth.  We don’t even take enough of their stock for them to notice anything’s missing.”

He nods, “I know, I was thinking the same thing.”  He stops talking briefly and I can tell there’s more to the problem that he’s not letting on.  If only I could see his lips through the mask, then I’d know exactly what he was thinking; just the way his mouth moves around his face paints a clear picture of his thoughts, the creases in his cheeks and scrunching of his lips.   “We’re almost out.”  His voice is pretty much inaudible, whispers are the toughest to decipher.  But I know exactly what he’s saying.

Without next week’s planned acquisition, we’re totally screwed.

“What should we do?”  I’ve sprawled my legs out on the empty gray concrete roof and relaxed a little, now that no bullets are whizzing past my ears.

“We’ll need a new plan if we’re going to make it through the month,” he mutters.

But we both know that the two of us will be fine, no matter what.  We will always have enough.  As long as we’re a part of the Dorobo, as long as we are the most successful acquisition team, we’re at the top of the list for new cartridges.  It’s everyone else we need to worry about-his brother among them.  The fragile little boy who can barely fend for himself.

“We better get back,” I say, pushing myself back to my feet at the thought of Lium.  He’s the reason we both do what we do.  He’s like my brother now too.  I extend my hand out to Thane but he refuses the help. 

A horn sounds thrice through the air, bouncing around the Dome, likely penetrating every ear, even those near the Core.  The rosy hue fades out, a deep orange swimming across what once was the horizon.  It’s almost like a sun rise, a beautiful painting I took for granted.  Like everything else in my life that I never appreciated before the sun burnt up.  Sometimes I think the day color system was created to simulate the sun, at least a little bit. 

“First sign of good news.”  I can almost hear his smile at the change in air quality. 

Orange.  That means ten minutes.  That’s how long we’d survive without a mask.

Thane

The rest of the trip we take at a leisurely pace.  We’re too early to reenter the Core anyways, both A and B ducts are open now, heating the Surface.  The B ducts will close as soon as the day color is yellow, allowing for incoming and outgoing traffic, but the colors have been too sporadic lately for anyone to predict when the next “sun” will be in full view. 

We finally make it to the edge of the Dome, the blinding whiteness of blistering ice winking at us through the transparent wall.  Nitra always presses her hand to the plastic-like substance that separates us from the outside, incomprehension inching across her eyes.  The barren wasteland that’s never visible looks like white nothingness, a cold, never-ending empty canvas. 

Her mask is getting old, the visor on the front looks to be splitting from the straps encircling the top and back of her head.  The mask itself doesn’t look too worn, since its solid metal spanning from ear to ear.  Both pieces are essential though; even one chip in the visor will render it useless.

I place my dark hand beside her pale fingers on the cold surface of the Dome; it legitimately feels like the frozen is trying to claw its way through, further deaden our already lifeless milieu.  Everyone’s out there, everyone I’ve ever loved, life frozen forever.  The only thing on the other side of this wall is the dead, and all that’s left inside of it is Death. 

My mind starts to travel to that awful place: images of the lost stumble into my head, the names of the dead trickle down to the tip of my tongue.  I feel the urge to scream.   

Then the click of a depleting cartridge interrupts my thoughts, and Nitra’s voice follows the silence, “Thirty-one?” 

“Yeah.”  Now’s a better time than any to escape the pressures of life and the looming presence of death.  I tug at the strap buckled at the base of my head and slide my finger across the power strip, immediately interrupting the oxygen flow.  I pull the mask off my face and take a staggering breath.   The deadly concoction of chemicals in the dirty air instantly affects my perception; the world swims a little bit, my head lightens and there’s a metallic scent that lingers on my tongue.  I laugh and take another deep breath through my nostrils, sucking in the sweet poison.  It’s surprisingly easier to breathe this way, the air is calming and sickly slippery in my throat. 

I watch Nitra’s head shake, her voice slips into my ears; the creepy mechanical voice sounds hundreds of feet away, but my eyes seem to think her face is just inches from mine.  The intoxication is instantaneous.  “I’ll give you three minutes.  That’s it.”  

I nod and feel the laughter spill through my lips.  “You want a sniff?”

Her head shakes and I can see her eyes roll through the transparent visor of her mask.  The incoherence of deadly chemicals and oxygen depletion is the only intoxicant we have available, the only opportunity I ever get to escape from reality.  I have no responsibilities in this moment, so I relish in the hallucinogenic composition dripping drops of contortion into my sight. 

My heartbeat slows.  Thoughts are fleeting and I’m engulfed in an ease I rarely have the privilege to experience.  My rate of breathing deepens and decelerates. 

The scrawny frame of an unknown passerby walks through my line of vision, he’s in all black clothing, he’s tumbling along in a curly-cue motion in a blasé fashion. 

Then a fear erupts inside my brain, breaking through the barriers of my intoxicated ease: my natural response to a stranger triggers a desperate need for coherence.  I’m fumbling to replace the mask on my face.  I’m completely startled out of my mind.  Instantly a hundred scenarios flash through my brain, and each one ends in mine and Nitra’s death.  He’s a threat.  Like all strangers on the Dome Surface.

Someone’s on my back and I feel the urge to swing my arm to my belt and reach for my knife, but what my body wants to do and what my brain is allowing me to accomplish are two different things entirely.  All I can manage is a tiny turn of my head, then I see Nitra’s shiny black hair attached to the body behind me and relax as I feel her fingers buckle the strap against the back of my head and push the power strip back into place. 

Oxygen flow stabs at my lungs, detoxification tumbling through my organs and revitalizing my coherence.  I breathe in hard.  The slender person is yards away from us now, wandering aimlessly down the orange-lit alleyway, apparently not the threat I’d originally assumed. 

I let my guard down and I shouldn’t have, not in this vulnerable position with our backs pressed against the frozen wall and a dead end fifty yards to our right.  As soon as I’m fully back in the present, not an ounce of intoxicant clouding my mind, I slam my fists against the rock strewn cement and swear. 

Every passerby is a threat; leaving Nitra alone to fend off thieves should have resulted in both of our deaths.  I was fortunate this time, but it would never happen that way again.  You don’t just get lucky like that twice in one lifetime.  Most slim bodies that wander past are moments from death, desperate enough to mindlessly kill for the cartridge secured in the nearest mask.  We had nothing on us but the single, two-thirds of the way empty, O2 cartridges already steadily depleting in our lungs.  But that was enough.  Anything is enough to kill for when you have nothing. 

I know. 

“Calm down,” Nitra says.  She’s flopped down beside me again and is pushing her hair behind her ears almost as if she’s not even remotely rattled by the disaster we’d so easily evaded.

“What if he took your mask?”  I stammer indignantly, her nonchalance disconcerting.

Nitra

I rub my hands against my knees slowly, then shrug.   It takes me a minute to recollect my thoughts.   My mind’s latched onto his voice, the real human tenor that’s musically haunting.  The tangible words, though he only managed a few, were full of emotion, were rhythmic and I’ll admit it, amazing.  I don’t need to inhale anything but the sound of a true human voice to feel pleasure.  It’s why I don’t really mind when he inhales Death, I get to hear words straight from a mouth.

But he’s right, it’s too dangerous.  It’s selfish of either of us to let it continue.  There’s a pretty obvious way to fix it, though, “Maybe you shouldn’t get high anymore?”

“I’ll consider that,” he’s reaching behind his head and adjusting the strap so it’s seated at the base of his neck; it’s less secure there, but more comfortable.  We’ve been told hundreds of times not to put the strap anywhere near our neck, but Thane tends not to listen if anyone’s telling him what to do.  “I’ll take first watch.” 

I don’t argue.  I don’t want to be conscious when we’re leaning against the Dome, the frostiness of the ice wasteland tugs unrelentingly at my heart.  The proximity of the Dead Surface sends invisible stabs at my sanity, as always.

I hate the Domes: the thick transparent material that separates us from the devastation just feet away from our fingertips.  It was created originally to keep the dirty air out, when the environment originally went sour, wiping out almost every living thing.  The Domes failed, though, they weren’t built quickly enough. 

Masks were the only other option; they became a precious commodity, and O2 cartridges were even more valuable.  But millions died in the initial devastation left by the depletion. 

Domes just sat there, unused and unnecessary, and masks became life support.  Or at least this is how I was told it happened.  I was born years later. 

I was alive for the death of the sun, though.  It took little more than a week for the star to dwindle out of the sky.  It faded to an orange more quickly than ever theorized.  It was as if it bled to death over the course of but a few days.  Then, it just went out.  Now every moment of life is like the night time, the only light visible by way of the millions of stars burning billions of miles away.    

Scientists were aghast, presidents removed from office by force, chaos reigned because people feared there was nothing anyone could do to save humanity. 

Waves of icy water took out entire countries in minutes, spouting from the sea unpredictably.  As soon as the water separated over a landscape, it froze.  The most warning anyone ever received was five minutes, and this was almost never enough. 

Then something miraculous happened, and Domes actually became useful.  For some reason nobody understands, Domes were resilient against the waves.  When the world froze over, leaving us with little more than a Dead Surface, everything within the Dome was left unscathed.  Life continued on, however depleted, however cold.  The few of us that remained tunneled deeper into the Earth for heat; ducts were set up to deliver things to those living underground, while others progressed even deeper into the Core to deliver heat to the only living part of the Surface: the Domes. 

But I hate everything about them.  The Domes, if they had only extended further than the miniscule reach they’d attained, maybe my family would still be alive. 

The Dead Surface is just as haunting, if not more, than the surface of the Dome.  There are countless bodies, frozen and preserved, sitting just feet away from us.  I shudder and gulp down the disquiet clawing up my throat. 

Thane’s already got his thigh extended for me to place my head on, so I press my cheek against his leg and curl up, exhausted at the emotional turmoil raging through my mind.  Then his words drift into my ears, “You comfortable here or do you want to find a more concealed spot?” 

“I’ll be fine.”  I manage, then I close my eyes and drift off in wait…

I’m running.  I’m running so fast I can feel the tendons in my calves catch fire.  Every pore leaks a salty substance, even the ducts of my eyes.  The path I maneuver is familiar in the dying sun light that sits directly above my head in the midafternoon, the icy trail more slippery than usual. 

The breathing apparatus strapped atop my mouth accentuates my wheezing as I continue sprinting forward.

“Miss.  Please get in the vehicle immediately.  This is your final warning.”  The voice reverberates through my ears as it exits the megaphone on the police vehicle trailing along behind me.

I shake my head in desperation as another bout of hot liquid pours down my face; I push myself further. 

“This is your last warning.  Get in the vehicle, the wave is hitting in three minutes.” 

No.  My parents.  My sisters.  They won’t know.  They won’t know anything.  They won’t make it. 

I can’t leave them.

If he wasn’t wearing a mask I might be able to hear the exasperation in his voice, “You will die if you don’t get in the car.” 

But my feet are still pounding against the frozen concrete and I feel absolutely no urge to let them save me.  The screech of tires doesn’t knock me off my course, the black vehicle swerves, cuts around a street lamp and comes to a rubber-burning stop directly in my path. 

There’s a blue uniformed body that wraps its arms around me, I’m kicking, screaming and biting at any inch of flesh I can find, but the strength of his clasp keeps me from accomplishing anything. 

“NO!” My mechanical voice screams.  I won’t go on.  I don’t care what this man says, I need to get home, I need to tell my family what’s happening.  Maybe, just maybe, we can survive it on our own.

My side slams against a plastic seat cushion that’s not the least bit padded and a metal door smashes against my feet as I’m shoved in the back compartment of the police vehicle.

They’re not even giving me a choice anymore. 

“You should have left me!”  I’m screaming, a piercing sound that deadens even my own ear drums, and scalding liquid runs like a river down my cheeks, parting around my mask before the salt can reach my lips. 

My rage is ignored entirely; I move to the handle and attempt to free myself from the back seat of the vehicle, but the door doesn’t budge in the slightest. 

“Two minutes and thirty seconds,” A sweet, true voice seeps through the speakers of the car and I’m momentarily calmed by the beauty of the words, unaltered by a stifling mask.  The radio system from the satellites is little to no help; all it does is count us down to our inevitable death.

My breathing stops.  Again a thrusting pain erupts in my chest when I know there’s no way anyone in my family will make it.  The motorized engine of the vehicle roars and we pick up speed as I consider my options.  I know without too much thought that life without my family is not a life worth living, and there’s only one way to accomplish my demise at this moment.

I rip the mask from my face and the intoxicants fill my weak lungs; my misery briefly squelched out by the dangerous chemicals now simmering inside me. 

At least I’ll die feeling good, I think.  Restraints fly out and wrap around my arms, securing me to the seat.  The man in the passenger’s chair whips around and secures my mask upon my face, his fingers working quickly and efficiently as the oxygen tingles uncomfortably back into my lungs. 

I drop my head against my chest and breathe in the oxygen, my hands unmoving behind my body.  I expect the man to turn back to the front of the car but his face is still glued in my direction; I can’t see even an inch of his features through his policeman black plated mask, though, so I don’t get why he continues to stare.

His counterpart in the driver’s seat is still accelerating; I can hear the desperation building in his gasps through the mask as “two minutes” pounds through the speakers.  My own breathing increases in ferocity and I want to scream out again, demand they let me out so I can die with everyone I love. 

But then something completely unexpected happens and I’m plunged into silence.  The officer who’s caught me up, thrown me in and restrained me reaches behind his head and I hear the click of the strap as he pulls the contraption from his face. 

The still mechanized voice of the other cop says, “What the hell are you doing?”

Then I hear the silky sounds of real voice and slip instantly into an emotional coma, “It’s okay, sweet heart.  Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.  What’s your name?”  His dark square face is so kind I can’t help but feel an ease creep down my body at the sight of it.  His eyes bend in with concern, not in scrutiny or annoyance as I had assumed.  He’s young, but there’s a significant amount of stubble on his chin so I know he’s much older than me, and his eyes are a deep chocolate brown like the hair that’s cut short atop his head. 

“Nitra.”  I manage, my own voice sounding disgustingly more masculine than the man’s before me.  I feel my head loll to the side, my breathing slows and evens out at his words.

“Put your mask back on.”  His fellow’s voice interrupts our attempt at a conversation, but the mask-less man ignores his partner. 

“It’s nice to meet you Nitra, I’m Thane.” 

Thane

I can tell she’s dreaming it again.  Tears have steadily slipped across her face for the past ten minutes.  Especially when we’re close to the Dead Surface, the images unabashedly raid her unconscious mind, sending her snippets of memories from the perilous day we met.  It’s useless to wake her up, though, because the dream will resume in the place it left off as soon as she tumbles back into a dream state. 

The wetness on her cheeks has dried and left chalky marks in vein-like formations by the time the quadruple gong shatters the night-like silence and the orange shade dies away, a yellow hue flickering in above us to take its place.  Her eyes flutter open, the transparent upper portion of her mask leaving her gray irises visible.  They remind me of a stormy morning, gray and white clouds swirling sporadically.  I miss the sky, especially the precipitation, in all its forms.

She sits up shakily and I watch the pupils of her eyes shrink in the pounding fluorescents.  The yellow lights are almost as bright as what I remember of the sun.   

The day color is now yellow.  Twenty five minutes.  That’s how long we’ll have if we take our masks off. 

There’s a grinding noise that sends a shudder through the ground, it thunders through the floor, sending loose gravel pebbles scurrying all around us. 

“You ready?”  I ask as we simultaneously push ourselves up from the rumbling ground. 

She nods and we take off out of the alleyway at a full sprint, hastily maneuvering the course to the nearest B duct.  We pass a C duct, nuzzled in a crumbling alley, at a blinding pace, the first coach emerging through the tunnels right on schedule. 

We could catch a ride down on this particular C duct coach but the risks are too great, we’ve likely been classified as wanted fugitives.   We’ll never know since we refuse to travel with the general population, streaking along in shadows and maintaining our anonymity at all costs.  I also wouldn’t be surprised if we’d been marked in the database as “lost in the cold”, buried in the iciness of the wave.  The wave that killed Nitra’s entire family.

Then there’s another A duct to our left.  We pass it with no thought.  A ducts are always on, constantly circulating our particular Dome with heat.

It takes us less than a minute to make it to the mouth of the B duct we’ve adopted, the one we proclaimed our own just a month ago.  It’s one of the oldest, most crumbly and least used B ducts, most of the others have duel purposes at this point, alternating between Surface heating and resource transport.  Most Dorobo, even the most skilled, just take C duct coaches when they’re checking their local Domes for abandoned resources, or “procuring resources that are improperly distributed”.  We avoid the radar, no matter the circumstances, mostly because we enjoy the challenge.

When we reach the duct there’s a familiar trickle of fear that drips down my throat.  “Ladies first?”  I suggest, staring at the black depths just at the tips of my toes.  The earth looks brittle, flakes of dirt fly in, slowly sucked downward in the pressure of the still slowing spinning fan far below.  Almost the entire alley is black.  It’s much smaller than most, the yellow day color barely reaches the surface of the Dome scrapers so none of it falls in on our personal B duct.  I take a giant step back and my back presses against the surface of the building behind me, the flaky cement braking off at my touch and falling to the floor.  Nitra does the same on the opposite side, then without looking behind her, her fingers slip the loop of her harness through the metal hook secured in the building.  She pulls tight and waves before running full sprint ahead for less than a foot and falling deliberately into the depths before us.

I slide the rope into its place and tug hard to be sure it’ll hold me. 

“Good!”  I hear her gravelly voice call up.  Now it’s my turn. 

I hold my breath as I start forward, as soon as the ground disappears beneath me a plummeting sensation in my stomach lifts through to my chest.  I imagine this is what dying feels like: a pitch black emptiness swallowing you whole, with no care as to how far you plummet into its clutches. 

The force of the rope pulled taut rips the air from my lungs and forces me to exhale.  My body slams against the earthen insides of the duct’s throat and I desperately search for any grip the wall produces, forcing my nails deep into the dirt, but my hands slip and I swing away from my safe haven. 

I’m dangling some twenty feet down in a massive hole, swinging back and forth with only a rope suspending me, a gigantic fan spinning ominously hundreds of feet below, just waiting to dissect me if I make another mistake. 

Nitra startles me out of my own mind, “Come on!” 

I’ve swung far enough back to kick off the opposing wall, then come even more quickly toward my destination, this time lodging all ten fingers into place.  I wish I could kiss the wall in thanks. 

“About time.” 

I follow her voice and begin my sideways climb toward our marker, my fingers grip the earth more easily now.  There’s an abandoned man tunnel Nitra’s already standing in somewhere off to my left.  It circles past Subterrania and brings us directly to the Dorobo, the entrance sits at the exact point in which our rope stops our fall, calculated extensively by myself. 

This part is not difficult to maneuver.  We’ve long since established a rapport with this wall; there are grooves in the exact locations we need them, perfect indentations for my feet and hands to wiggle themselves into, after the initial catch of course. 

My hand reaches for the next hold but instead I find open space.  “Almost there,” I say, signaling to Nitra I’ll soon be pulling myself up, right at her side.  Things get trickier down here, in the abandoned tunnel there’s absolutely no need for lights, so we must cling to one another to remain on path.  But I don’t get a response.  There’s not even an attempt to pull me up, a hand extended to indicate to me that she’s close and ready to start on our sightless journey. 

There’s a scuffling sound, a slam of fist against flesh, a noise I know all too well, and a masked grunt. 

“Nitra!”  I call desperately, I slam my shoe into the next grip spot quickly, I feel the gravel corrode in my haste and my foot slips from its place.  Rough thick fingers secure themselves around my wrists and I feel my body lifted into the air, I’m like a helpless dangling rag doll at the mercy of something gargantuan. 

I feel the dropping sensation again in my stomach region, then my feet collide with the solid ground of the tunnel and an off-kilter feeling sends me into a stumble.  “Dorobo, eh?”  A deep voice echoes, an even more scratchy sound than my ears are used to. 

My hand flies out and I purposefully slam it into the wall behind me to settle myself.  A click! throws a stream of light into my face and I’m instantly blinded.  “I’m talkin to you boy.” 

“What’s it to you?”  I hurl back, bent to avoid the piercing light bleeding into my pupils.  My head starts to pound. 

“Definitely Dorobo with a cocky attitude like that,” there’s a minute chuckle that lacks any humor at all, “Bring her over here.  We’ll get him to talk.”  The light falls upon Nitra and the man holding his hand over the slits in her mask, to stifle out any words she’s attempting to speak.  I can see her struggle, but she’s no match for the beast carrying her forward; he’s at least two feet taller than her, and an additional four times her width.  Everything he wears is black and torn, rip marks riddle his clothes. 

I stand up straight and puff out my chest when the light shines back to find my reaction.  “Oh, someone used to run with the law.”  My face mask is in full view; they’ve recognized the government plating that hides most of my head.  I hear the scraping of metal on the floor and recognize the shift in the air as an unknown number of assailants ready themselves for a fight. 

The man who’s spoken this entire time shines the light on himself and the pair beside him, Nitra and her captor.  For a second I hope he might have been on the police force at some point, but judging by the thickening tension in the already compact tunnel I’d guess not.  His mask is a sickly green color that only covers his lips; the rest of his scruffily features are visible behind his transparent visor, his bowl cut dirt hair and narrowed rat eyes.  He’s barely more than half the henchman gripping Nitra’s size, an additional few inches shorter than Nitra herself.  Not the most intimidating of creatures alone, but sufficiently so with the bear at his side.  “Listen fruit cup, your kid gets the whack if you don’t give us the info we want, got it?” 

I nod.  Nitra’s eyes narrow at me in my weakness.  But she knows I won’t ever let anything hurt her… I promised.   I promised everything would be okay. 

“Glad to see you understand.  Where’s the goods?” 

“We don’t have any.” 

“Don’t lie to me.”  Little man’s face contorts in malice as the giant tightens his grip on Nitra’s mask; I can tell that anymore pressure will snap her cartridge in two.  I can’t take her with me on any more acquisitions.  Ever again.

“Wait, wait.  I’m not lying.  There was an interception, at the factory.  You heard about it, right?”  I’m inadvertently stepping forward, my hand unconsciously reaching out to Nitra.

His expression softens and a malevolent glee perks his cheeks up in a grin I cannot see.  He knows I’m in the palm of his hand.  “We heard about it.”

“It wasn’t us.”  I stop in my tracks some ten feet from him when I feel the presence of more than the two men in the room.  They’ve got me surrounded.  There’s at least five more. 

His eyes narrow again, and I can feel the situation slip through my fingers.  “Don’t lie to me,” he repeats. 

“I’m not.  We were on mission to gather intel about that shipment.  But it’s gone.” 

“We heard the Dorobo took it.”

“We didn’t.”  I say sternly, though when the words exist the mask they sound unaltered by my fierce tone.

The goon holding Nitra shakes his head, “They’d have cartridges fuller than this if they took it.” 

“What’s she at?”  Rat man’s face turns to his pet bear in question. 

“Fourteen.”

I feel a bubbling anger in the pits of my stomach.  She should have told me she was so low.  She made it seem like it was me running on empty with my thirty-one percent. 

“Snap it.”  The beast’s fingers slide Nitra’s mask aside but before I can yell NO! I hear the hiss of the O2 cartridge releasing its life. 

He’s punctured the only cartridge she has left.

She drops to the floor, immediately overwhelmed by the chemicals in the poisoned air; her mind not even remotely acclimated to the effects of inhaling Death, unlike mine.  I throw myself to my knees at her side and unclasp the mask from my face, snapping it into place at the back of her head after taking a final gasp of pure oxygen.  My lips slam shut and I briefly hold off from inhaling the dirty air. 

Nitra

Oxygen in its purest form fills my lungs and I send my eyes up to take in Thane’s face, hoping to convey my gratitude.   Then I realize he can’t see my expression in the slightest, so I throw my useless mask over his mouth and heave us both up to our feet.

“You better run.”  My captor’s voice is slow and unsettling, but I understand the message and don’t hesitate even a second to consider his words or calculate the situation.  So I take his advice. 

We’re both sprinting at full speed in the pitch black wormhole, a twisting turning space we usually navigate at a standing crawl. 

Eventually Thane’s pace begins to slow and I can hear the intoxication in the chuckles spilling from his mouth.   I pull up short, our arms still linked together, and he slowly comes to a stop, then bounces back toward me, his body now totally discombobulated.  He’s slouched forward and the blood vessels in his eyes have already begun to burst.  I unsnap my own cartridge-less mask from him and sling it over my arm; he looks at me mindlessly with a haphazard grin dangling across his face.  Then I take a final breath from his mask and work it off my head, clipping it to place at the base of his neck. 

His words come through, riddled with dreariness, and I hear the desperation build as his words increase in speed and he sobers, “I’m… not feeling… so… good.  We need to… get back.  Check my cartridge.  Are you okay?”

I shake my head and push aside the casing, “Twenty-seven”, I say quickly, barely containing the last smidgen of Oxygen in my lungs. 

“Let’s get out of here.”  He re-clips his arm onto mine and we start running again.  With the first slam of my foot against the dirt floor, the breath escapes my lips and I’m forced to inhale Death.  I try not to think about it too much, and my body naturally propels me forward, as sprinting comes so easily to me.  It’s like my normal state of being.  Others find comfort in sitting, or laying, stationary positions that evoke feelings of ease.  But the only security I find is in motion, an all-out dash, movement toward a destination…

The sunlight is waving farewell.  I’m running with the boy named Lium, his small hand is in mine.  The Dome’s surface magnetizes the sun’s final red rays, and a brilliant explosion in the sky releases the last of the heat from our Universe’s central star. 

“Think we’ll catch it?”  Lium shouts up at me, the look of awe in his eyes paralyzes my heart.  He thinks of the sun’s departure as something cool, something exciting to watch.  So I let him think that, because the truth is far worse to bear. 

“We might,” I say through the mask, thankful I don’t need to hide the misery clogging my throat.  “I know we’ll definitely catch Thane, though.  Want a ride?” 

His eyes light up through his kid-sized mask and I stoop to the floor, allowing tiny Lium to climb onto my back.  He tries to make his toes touch around my waist, but fails.  His small hands barely clasp together around my neck, and we’re off.  I’m running again through the street, my hands wrapped tightly around Lium’s feet. 

Lium’s the same age as my youngest sister.  Six years old.  Ten years my junior.  When Thane introduced me to him I fell instantly in love and I knew immediately this boy was worth living for.  He became my family, my life.  Just like Thane…

There is a small pleasant jingling in my ears.  Thane’s mask fades into view through the black blanket of fog in my vision; I feel the coarse air ripping through me and stop dead in my tracks at the lack of weight on my back.  Have I dropped Lium?!

Thane

“Where’s Lium?!”  Her true voice is squeaky in her fear.  She’s let go of my arm and has her hands in her hair, the anguish deepening the lines in her face.  She’s hallucinating again.  Her body reacts much faster to Death.

I put my hands out to her and tug her in, wrapping my arms around her body, “Stop, stop.  It’s not real, we’re in the tunnel.”   It hasn’t been long since she’s had the mask for herself, but I switch it up anyways and secure the one with the cartridge over her mouth. 

She’s sober in seconds, “Breathe in as little as possible.  Better a light head than a hallucination,” she orders.  But I haven’t ever hallucinated when inhaling Death.  I just go numb.

Subterrania opens up to us briefly much further along our journey; I can see the green day color peeking through and I’m transfixed by its nature-like beauty. 

Green!  We’re almost never in the green.  We could go so long without Oxygen right now.  It’s something to celebrate; we should really stop and enjoy it.  It feels like forever since the last one.  I come to a halt and pull Nitra with me, reversing back toward the archway we passed.  We could stop here and briefly enjoy the less-toxic-than-usual-air in the marketplace, we could grab a few bites to eat, even, relax for a moment.  I know I could use a break from all of this running, to revel in the leafy color projected over the entire underground city.  It’s a beautiful city, it really is.  Full of beautiful people.

Nitra’s pulling at me though, in the opposite direction, “Oxygen’s more important than food.”  It’s like she’s reading my mind.  “We can grab Lium and head back later; we need to get to headquarters first.”  

I begrudgingly stop tugging her toward the pretty green lights and allow my body to resume the trek.  We stop again and she gives me the mask, but after I get my fill of oxygen I force her to take it back, she needs it more.  I push myself to the limits, conscious of the fact that the green day color means I can last much longer without a mask.

We take a few turns, one’s I’m paying very little attention to, green lights sprout up here and there as we make our way back into civilization, the tunnel widens and people pop up sporadically on our route.  A few look at me in awe, then scamper back into their dwellings with horror stamped upon their faces when they realize the mask I wear is empty of oxygen.  They think I’ll steal their own O2 cartridges, or force them to hand over the stashes they have hidden in their micro-homes.  Silly people still have their masks strapped fully in place, O2 probably set to its normal emission.  They’re wasting their oxygen, though, in this green day color they should have their cartridges turned off, don’t they know there’s a shortage?

Nitra can feel me hesitate before a family of four, words attempting to arrange themselves appropriately in my head so I can give them a full lecture on the conservation of oxygen.  “It’s idea good not…” I start to say, but they’ve already disappeared by the time I realize the order of my words makes no sense.  I chortle then feel my arm practically ripped from socket as Nitra tugs me on.  “It get, I it get.”  I mumble, just giving up on the mask entirely and ripping it from my lips so it dangles around my neck and bounces on my chest. 

Once we get to Dorobo headquarters I’m tripping over myself, probably due to the fact that my mask’s not been functioning since we were in the yellow.  A long time ago, I might add. 

Ryp, our heavily armored security man in brown camouflage plating, sits just inside the entrance to the main room.  We’re immediately cleared to proceed when we enter, mine and Nitra’s masks are legend in these halls, or so they say.  He nods his head to us and frantically shifts aside, probably due to the flimsy state I’m in.  “Hi Ryp!”  I exclaim enthusiastically, and I can hear what might be laughter in response.

We are in a small room, what leads to the second, real, entrance into the building.  Above us is the mouth of what used to be a ginormous creature, its body long since decayed, but the bones securely in place, holding our compacted dirt ceiling firmly above us.  Cave-ins happen more often than I like to think about, but here the dirt has already molded and taken to the bone structure, thus the likelihood of the dirt pushing back at us is severely diminished. 

We’re into the main section of the structure, the plaza as Rado likes us to call it.  He’s the number one man in the Dorobo.  The leader.  And he loves me and Nitra. 

I stop resolutely in the center of the plaza and shift my eyes upward, reveling in the green light strewn across the ceiling, illuminating the spine of the whale-like-creature in the hue that reminds me of springtime.  “Nitra, Nitra, you have to stop.  Look.”  I shoot my hand out and grab hold of the fingers I find, pull her close and continue, “Look at how beautiful.  Green is such a nice color.”

Rado’s deep tones chuckle right next to my ear, I shoot my eyes to the hand in mine and find not dainty fingers but the palm of someone quite large.  “Somebody get my man a cartridge please.”  I drop Rado’s hand and shoot my gaze around the plaza, find Nitra doubled over in laughter across the room and narrow my eyes. 

Then I look to Rado to apologize but find no words.  He’s in a particularly bright colored button down t-shirt, like he’s in the middle of the Caribbean on a hot day.  There are giant flowers all over it, bright pink and purple ones, the glasses he wears are preposterously tinted and  he’s in flip flops, probably the only remaining pair on Earth considering how completely impractical they are.  He’s jolly, tries to find laughter in everything, even the business, and his cheeks are a perky pink color behind his yellow mask.  The way he carries himself is oxymoronic bearing in mind the times, but it’s probably why he’s so successful.  You can’t dislike him; the kids love him especially, he’s the modern Santa Claus.  He looks like him too. 

“You look ridiculous,” I manage through a half-hearted grin.

Rado claps me on the back and I hear another chuckle, “How long you’s been suckin in the fumes?”

Nitra answers for me, she’s returned to the room with a cartridge in her hand, “Over an hour.  We got caught up at our B duct, some thugs trying to find out where the most recent shipment is.”  She snatches her mask from around my neck and fixes the cartridge into the casing; she carefully returns my own mask to my face and replaces hers over her mouth. 

“No wonder he’s so loopy.” 

“We’ve been switching back and forth, Rado, but he insisted I take most of the cartridge,” Nitra says.

“Good man.  Always lookin’ out for the youngin’s.” 

“Just like you.”  I mutter, my first comment through my mask in over twenty minutes.  The Oxygen really works itself into my entire being and my mind slowly begins to resurface.

Rado ushers us to a small circular table at the side of the room, and motions for us to each take a chair beside him.  “I hate to do this, but I gotta know the intel, guys.  We’re runnin’ real low down here.”

“It’s not good.”  I say.

Rado turns to Nitra, “How bad?”

“Someone intercepted the entire shipment at the source, and they think it was us.”  She says.

He rests his forehead in his hand, dropping his elbow onto the table, it collides with a thud against the glass, “This is bad.  They left us alone cuz they thought we was the little guy.  And I mean, we is the little guy.  I haven’t even sent out acquisitions other than you’s two.”

I inhale deeply, the Oxygen thickening in my blood.  If Rado is vocally expressing his concern, then it must be worse than I had imagined.   

“I hate to do this to you two,” he lifts his head from his palm, I can hear his lips purse in deliberation, “I need ya back out there.  As soon as possible.  Both of ya’s.  We gotta find out who did this or find another shipment.”

Nitra nods and reality swims back to me, “She can’t go.”  I say, “I’ll go.  Alone.”

“No.”  She says, her fist hitting the table.  The glass of water at Rado’s side shakes against the glass.  “You can’t do that.  You can’t leave me here.”

But I stand doggedly in my decision, “I need you safe.  I promised…  You aren’t allowed on any more missions, intel or otherwise.”

“You aren’t my dad, don’t tell me what to do.”  She’s reaching a new level of fury.  Her eyes are reddening and the tears are threatening to tumble down her cheeks, she’s barely able to get the words out, I can hear her teeth are bared as she bites back her frustration.  But I don’t feel bad for making the decision.  I knew she’d be upset.  She can be as mad as she wants, as long as she’s down here, hidden away, safe. 

“No, he’s not.  But he’s as good a dad to you as my old man was to me.”  I’m slightly taken aback that Rado’s taking my side in this, he reaches a hand out and places it over Nitra’s, his chunky fingers cover the entirety of her hand.  His eyes turn to me then, and he continues, “But Thane, I implore you to reconsider.” 

Rado’s using big words and his sentences are melding in more appropriate English.  This tends to be a poor sign. 

Nitra

“You’re the best team I got, I need you’s both out there.”  Rado finishes, his hands are soft and clean, unlike almost every other hand in Subterrania.  Definitely nothing like mine.  I force the tears back and my irritation with the situation subsides, but my anger at Thane doesn’t in the slightest.  How could he do that to me?  Leave me down here just waiting to find out if he’s okay.  Rado continues on since Thane has yet to say anything, “It’s a two man op, it always has been.”

Thane’s mask swivels to me, “What about Lium?  What if something happens to both of us, huh?  Who’s gonna take care of him?” 

This is a turn of the knife that he’s already thrust into my back.  But now he’s got me really thinking.  What would happen to Lium if something happened to us?  I know what would happen to Lium if I died.  He’d be sad.  Thane too.  And that’s about it.  But if Thane died.  If Thane died, Lium and I would both die on the inside.  He would be raised by a sixteen year old, suicidal, thrill-seeking teenager who has yet to get ahold of her hormones.

Thankfully Rado answers for me, “You know I’ll take care of squirt.  He’ll live like a king.  But neither of you’s has to worry, because nothing’s gonna happen, to either of you.  Got it?”  That’s it!  If Thane were to die, the best thing for Lium would be for me to die, too.  Because I couldn’t raise the kid.  He’d end up as horrendous as me.  Rado as a parent makes so much more sense.  And if Thane weren’t alive anymore, then I’d literally have no reason to live.  So it’s quite clear we have only one option. 

I shake my head in agreement, and wait for Thane to do the same.  He finally does, with both Rado and me staring at him in wait, but it’s a curt nod.  He’s not happy with me.  And he’d be livid if he could hear the decisions I’ve made in my head.

“Do us a favor, Ryp, get the man and the girl some water, will ya?” 

But before Ryp can reply Thane’s on his feet, “Give us a day with Lium, then we’ll go.”

“A day?”  Rado asks, I can see his eyebrows lift; a full day is a big request. 

“We haven’t seen him for a while.”  I add, feeling a longing lodge itself in my throat for a relaxing day in Subterrania with the kid.   The hope expands in my lungs, and a ridiculous glee briefly fills my chest. 

Rado considers for a moment, “Listen, I got two cartridges with you’s names on ‘em when you get back.  You let the day color get to orange before headin’ back to the Dome Surface and I’m kickin both o’ ya’ asses.”  He chortles and sticks his hand out for Thane to shake.  I’m silently bouncing in my chair, the anticipation killing every lingering ounce of frustration.  “Glad you reconsidered, Thane.  Look forward to seeing you off ASAP.”

Thane releases the handshake rather quickly and starts for the door, I stand from the table, throw out my arms and wrap them around Rado, it’s our usual hello and goodbye.  He pats me on the head in the clutches of the embrace and whispers, “Don’t make me regret it.  I could get another team out there if need-be, but you two’s are my best.”

“I know.”  We share a light-hearted laugh and I lift my mask momentarily to plant a kiss on his cheek, he’s like the grandfather I’d never even dreamed of having. 

He waves goodbye to us as we slip back through the mouth of the beast and make our way toward the tunnel; Thane’s quite a few strides ahead of me, his fists are clenched at his sides, his paces are stiff and he doesn’t even look back to see if I’m following.    

“Thane,” I say, for some reason feeling I need to rectify the situation.  There’s a guilt slipping in, something I only previously felt with my parents.  Any time I’d do something wrong I’d force a reconciliation, I’d thrust apologies, because I’ve always hated to disappoint.  I take a few hurried steps and catch up, “Thane, I’m sorry.  I just can’t…”  Can’t what?  What can’t I do?

He turns abruptly and puts his hands on the topmost part of my forearms.  His grip is fraught, “You shouldn’t be out there.”

He’s looking out for me.  My safety is the issue.  I can’t do anything but thank him.  And now I feel worse for getting upset.  “I’ll be fine.   Please, Thane.  This is what I’m meant to do.  I’m good at it.”

“Because you’re reckless.” 

“So are you,” I plead with my eyes, the only weapon I have that he can’t possibly accomplish at this moment, because I know behind his fully plated mask there’s a weakness in his eyes.  He’s got a weak spot for me.  I saw it.  I recognized it the moment he reached out to me in the darkness, when my mask was crushed in the thieving hands of the giant assailant. 

“I’m not reckless; I just do what I have to do.  I won’t lose you, Nitra.  You’re family to me now.  You mean so much to us; I can’t have you defenseless in the hands of thieves.”  His grip on my arms loosens, his fingers ease off me, but I can still feel the pressure of his hands and the indentations they’ve left in my flesh. 

“We’re thieves,” I whisper, eyes dropping to the floor as if I’m ashamed by the fact.  I am.  I am ashamed. 

“Not like them, we aren’t.  We don’t kill.  But everyone else…”  I hear his gasp for breath; he’s still acclimating to the oxygen, “Everyone else will kill to survive.”

“You can’t go alone.”  I’m as stubborn as he is, and he’s well aware.  He turns away and starts down the tunnel again, heading toward our micro-home where Lium is housed with his Dorobo-appointed nanny. 

“I know.  I don’t like it.”  He shoots over his shoulder, storming off in an angry huff.  The tension in my gut eases, it’s nothing I’ve done to disappoint him, it’s all a matter of safety.  It’s all a matter of me being a little sister to him.  So I’m going to have to be a little more careful now.  Avoid danger better. To put him at ease. 

It feels so nice to know someone cares.  I’ve always known it, but the fact is concrete now.  It’s inescapably existent: I have a family again.  A family I’d do anything for.  A family who’ll do anything for me.