(A Companion Story to The Running Game)
by L E Fitzpatrick
I have to make it quick. The army is moving in and so we're moving out, but don't worry. I've got great news. They've found a place for me in S'aven, at a hospital. I won't tell you what it's called, just that it's named after Mum. Can you believe it? After all this time we can finally be together again. I miss you sis', but we'll be together soon. Who knows I might even be in S'aven by the time you get this letter. Come find me - Rachel
The world was white. So white the dark night couldn't penetrate the layers of snow suffocating the surrounding forest. Each breath Isobel managed to push out crystallised in the air around her small mouth, sparkling under the moonlight. She pushed forward, the snow swallowing her legs to the knees in hungry gulps. Her hands and feet were numb but her thighs burned furiously with each agonising step.
It was late and she was so very tired. The last night was spent in the back of their Landrover, fighting for space on the backseat with her little sister while their Dad kept watch. It had been a cold, broken night, but Isobel would give anything to be back there now. Anything not to be walking through
in the middle of December. Red
She sniffed and looked behind her. Rachel was only six, three years younger than Isobel but at that moment it felt like there was a lifetime between them. Rachel didn't understand why they were in the middle of the wilderness. She had no idea why they had to leave their mother. She had slept through their uncle running into the cottage, screaming that the army was coming. She had no idea of the danger they were in. Isobel stared at her sister as she struggled in the snow and envied every tiny, oblivious step she took.
Rachel fell and started to cry. She was sobbing for their mum, looking around the expanse of nothing for her. But Isobel knew they would never see their mother again. She took a strong heavy breath, close to tears herself. She wanted to move to help her sister but her legs refused to go back, not after the effort they had put into going forwards.
Instead she called out. "Dad!"
He was ahead of them, scoping out the safety of the forest. When he saw Rachel he hurried back, covering the ground in five easy strides. Despite the cold and fatigue Isobel broke a smile. Her father was the greatest man, he could still do anything in her eyes. Despite the snow sticking to his beard, the creases in his weather worn face, he was still her hero. He lifted Rachel effortlessly into his large arms, brushing the snow from her hair. And that's when the gunfire started.
"Run! Isobel run!" He screamed.
He grabbed her coat as he ran past, but she stayed, looking through the trees at the erupting lights, as though the night sky had sunk to the earth.
"Isobel!" Her father shouted and she came to her senses.
They were coming! She started to run. Her feet leapt into her father's footsteps, following his shadow as he weaved through the trees. The foliage became denser, the snow thinner. She found her feet striking firming soil, frozen dirt and icy puddles. She leapt over a ditch and her father caught her. His hand pulled her close and they huddled together into a dug out burrow off the path.
"We need to work together," he whispered, so softly Isobel thought she was imagining them. "We're not here," he told them both. "Say it with me girls. We're not here."
Isobel closed her eyes, sinking into the warmth of her father's wax coat. She reached for her sister's hand and concentrated. "We're not here," she repeated. "We're not here." Over and over she focussed on the words, hearing the echo in the baritone voice of her father and the small squeak of her sister.
Time started to twist, the cold subsided and she felt herself floating against the body of her father. The explosions around her, the shouting, the danger, all started to melt away. But the power running over her wasn't hers, it didn't even belong to her father. The dominant voice inside her head became her sister's, small and yet entirely commanding. She focused on it, echoing it as best she could and then she felt herself merge into nothing.
How long had they stayed like that? Isobel had no idea, but when her father broke free of their spell the militia had gone, leaving a stunned silence in their wake. The surrounding trees were torn apart with gunshot. Pieces of bark and bullet shells scattered the ground around them. It had been ferocious whatever had come their way.
"Daddy," Rachel asked sleepily. "What's going on?"
Isobel waited. She'd asked the question herself the night before, but she was sure her father wasn't about to repeat his answer. How could he tell a six year old the truth? That they were caught in the middle of a civil war, insurgents and militia intent on claiming land that never belonged to them? How could he explain to her that these men didn't care who got caught in the crossfire? That this wasn't a fight for freedom, or liberty or any sense of lost righteousness? That this was about control and power? How could he tell his youngest daughter that she had never been in more danger, because if they found out what she was, what all three of them were, both sides would lock them away and do all kinds of experiments on them?
"We're playing a game," he said, stroking his younger daughter's hair, while at the same time squeezing Isobel's hand. "It's called the Running Game. We have to run and hide, concentrate on not getting caught. Wherever we go, whatever we do we keep moving, counting the exits, planning our escape routes so nobody can ever find us."
"It sounds like a stupid game," Rachel said.
Their dad laughed softly. "It does, but you get a prize if you play it well."
"You get to live Rachel. You get to grow up, to keep running. You have to keep running baby. Always be ready to run because they'll always be coming for you. Whatever happens, they'll always be coming for you."
"When will they stop Dad?" Isobel asked.
Her father held Rachel close, as though he were protecting her from the next confession.
"They'll never stop," he said. "Right now we need to rest. The secret to winning the game is knowing when to run and when to wait. You're tired. You've done so well today. Try to sleep now, we'll try to get out of the forest in a few hours."
Rachel was asleep in moments and Isobel had a suspicion her father had put her to sleep using his powers. She snored quietly, looking almost peaceful.
"There's a lot of ground to cover," he said to Isobel. "We're going to make our way south, to S'aven. There's a man there. A priest called Father Darcy. He's an old friend. We can trust him. He'll help hide us until all this is over."
Isobel nodded, understanding these were instructions, not reassurances. She rolled the name in her head; Father Darcy. She had to remember it.
"Your sister, her powers..." he shook his head and sighed. "If they find her it will be bad for all Reachers." He turned to her, his eyes warming. "If they find either of you, it will be bad honey. You're so young, this isn't the life I wanted for you. You need to be strong now sweetheart, you need to look after your sister. I wouldn't trust her to anyone else." He pushed the hair from her face. "My beautiful girl, look at you, you're so grown up already. You make me and your mum so proud."
She felt a lump swell in her throat.
"Whatever happens you look after your sister. Can you do that Isobel?"
Her father was a good man and she would have done anything to make him happy. She stared into his dark blue eyes and the look he gave her betrayed everything that was about to come - his death, their journey, her future.
"Can you do that Isobel?"
Would he have asked if he had honestly known what it would mean - what she would do to keep her sister safe?
To be continued.... (Or download now for free from Smashwords)
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