Sky of Dust: The Last Weapon Read online

  My dad was is an Honor Guard Elite who only came home two weeks a year. Steve said that he just comes home to get mom pregnant before leaving—but, then again, that was why the Guards were allowed two weeks at all. Mom always told us otherwise though. She said they had fallen in love when they went to school. He was some sort of big shot in school and had chosen to be in the Honor Guards instead of something a bit safer. Mom said he did it because it would give him the right to pick her as his wife and that she would be taken care of by the State. Besides the yearly visit, he would write us or send some sugar treats. He felt more like a friend off on an adventure than a dad, I guess.

  I kind of resented him for not being here, but I knew he had good intentions in the beginning. I knew it was just a dream, but I still wished he was here with mom. She was always so happy the weeks before he would come. Unfortunately, we had not seen or heard from him in almost five years; right after mom had Lesley and became infertile. Steve said dad had no use for her anymore, and even suggested that he was dead. I used to refuse to believe it, but, as the years went by, I was starting to lose hope.

  I walked over to Cray, whose feet were sticking through two holes in the blanket, making it look like a giant dress. I pulled off the blanket and wrapped him in it. He woke up and looked at me with his dirty face and big blue eyes and smiled like he just woke from a wonderful dream.

  “Play ball?” Cray croaked.

  “Maybe later, buddy,” I whispered. “I got to go to school.”

  “Bye bye,” he yawned as he rolled over and placed his face on the wall.

  I closed the door slowly and walked down the stairwell, making sure to walk on the right most part of the stairs so the boards would not squeak. This was very tricky since the railings were loose and would not support any weight. Imagine walking on a tight rope, except with stairs, and you would know the experience. I concentrated on placing my feet in just the right spots to avoid any noise while keeping my balance.

  About a quarter of the way down, I started to get sharp pains shooting through my brain, like someone was threading a needle into my skull rapidly then tightening the string around my brain. I stopped for a second until the pain went away and continued with a bit less care.

  For as long as I could remember, when I concentrated or got stressed, a blinding pain filled my head. What made it more painful was, when it began to hurt, it felt like time went by slowly. What may have been a few seconds, seemed like a minute of pain. I blamed my less than stellar grades on this issue. I could not look at a book or pay attention in class unless I was partially preoccupied, to sort of balance it out. No one knew about this except Casey. Having mind pains was not something you went around talking about.

  Two things usually happened if you started having reoccurring brain pains. You either went mad, or the government would come take you away for “rehabilitation.” Those who died were the ones who lived with it but didn’t let anyone know. I did not know exactly about all of the details, but you heard about people going mad by trying to suppress the pain or screaming until they died. Those who were taken away for “rehabilitation” were never seen again, and whenever families and friends asked how they were doing, it was always the same answer: “He is in rehabilitation and will return home once he is deemed safe.” The government claimed that it was a side effect from the biochemical weapons used against us during the war and that it could be passed on to others through contact. Sometimes, whole families disappeared.

  I reached the bottom of the stairs and bolted out the door, taking care not to slam the door and make sure it was locked. Only a person that lived at the house or a government official could unlock the door. Each person had a chip embedded in their hand that contained all their information as well as what door they passed through and at what time.

  The morning was the best we had seen for months. The sky of dust had several breaks, allowing a rare glimpse of the bright blue sky. The air was—fresh? I don't know—it seemed cleaner than normal since fresh air was something of a myth.

  “Oh my god, dude,” Casey huffed. “I should have just gone on without you. What were you doing? Telling a story? Jeez, let’s go.”

  “Oh, hey, how are you doing? How is the family? Nice weather we are having,” I spat sarcastically.

  “We would be free to enjoy the weather today if you didn’t get us in trouble again,” he squeaked.

  I laughed because it was really hard to take him seriously with a voice like that.

  “So, what do you think we will have to do today? I mean, it is a bit odd that we have detention on a Sunday,” Casey wondered.

  “Ahh, I don’t know. As long as we don’t have to run, I'm game for anything,” I said.

  “I bet you are, you know, to impress Abigail with your skill of mumbling.” He grinned with a hint of challenge.

  See, we both liked Abigail from the moment that she showed up last year. I could never make it five feet from her before I felt like I was going to throw up or getting brain pains while I concentrated on not screwing up. A few weeks after she arrived, Casey had the privilege of being her partner when we had a training exercise in the mountains. I had actually drawn her name, but could not stomach the thought of being so close and doing something stupid around her that I traded slips of paper with Casey. I ended up with Peter. Casey said she did not say much and pretty much did the whole assignment on her own.

  “Please, and you think she can take your lady voice seriously?” I retorted.

  “Yeah, I do. That’s all you got against me? My voice? Ha!” he said in a shaky voice, and his face turned beet red. I knew I had struck a nerve because he did not like anyone talking about his voice.

  “There was also that time when you found that girly magazine…” I started.

  “Don’t you dare mention that again! You swore you would never talk about it!” He raised his fist with tears in his eyes.

  “I am kidding. Ha-ha. You are still a softy even though you look manly.” I laughed. I honestly did not want him to hit me in the arm because I would probably cry. The last time he play tapped me, my arm was bruised for a month.

  “I guess we head towards Miss Curtiss’s room then?” Casey asked.

  “Yeah, let’s go on in and get this over with,” I said lazily.

  We walked into the quiet school building, which was more like ruins than anything else. All these years and they could not even build a new school, let alone repair the ones we had? Some walls had temporary fixes. The higher tiered students got the better rooms while the rest got the crappy rooms. I was in a class that had not been divided yet, so we got one that was about average (which mean that the ceiling was only caving in, not completely gone).

  When we arrived to Miss Curtiss’s room, the door was shut, but we could make out shadows moving across the floor like someone was pacing. I heard frantic whispers like someone was trying to play a prank and jump out and shout “surprise!”

  Casey and I looked at each other, and Casey nodded.

  I mustered up my confidence and said, “How bad can it be?”

  I knocked. Between the second and third knock, the door swung open and I was staring down the barrel of an antique rifle being held by Miss Curtiss.

  Chapter 2

  Casey whimpered.

  What happened next was a blur.

  As soon as the door opened and I saw the rifle, my mind instantly began to twist and bubble. Pain shot through my head and eyes, and then everything was clear. I could hear, see, and smell everything, but the pain was very much there and barely tolerable.

  I could hear the individual breathing of five people. I could see Peter slumped in a corner with his arms over his head and the reflection of Abigail in the window in the back of the room. She was standing behind the now open door holding a pistol, looking like she would pop out around the door if needed.

  I smelled the makeup that Miss Curtis had plastered to her face, the sweet smell of Abigail’s perfume, and some other stench that I to
ld Casey I would not mention.

  As soon as the barrel of the gun was fully lowered, I swayed my face out of the line of fire and swung my left hand up, pushing the barrel towards the roof.

  I then slammed myself in the door, behind which Abigail was standing and felt the door connect with her body.

  I had just noticed that Miss Curtiss’s eyes had not even reacted to what I did when my mind gave a pain so sharp that I had to close my eyes.

  When I opened them, things were back into full swing. The gun was still rotating up then down, knocking Miss Curtiss in the face and sending her spectacles across the floor. Miss Curtiss gave a yelp and stumbled backwards over a desk. I heard a cry from behind the door and then a thump as Abigail fell. The gun skidded a few feet away.

  Thoughts started to race through my head. Why are Miss Curtiss and Abigail trying to kill us? How did I just do that? Should I run? What about Peter?

  There was no way we could outrun bullets, and there was no way I was going to leave Peter there alone with the gun wielding women.

  “Casey! Get the guns!” I yelled.

  Casey snapped out of it and launched himself over the desk where Miss Curtiss still laid stunned. He started wrestling the rifle from her hands.

  I ran towards the pistol Abigail had dropped, but, just as my hands had wrapped around the grip, Abigail was on her feet and tackled me. By “tackle,” I do not mean she ran into me and knocked me over or we struggled. I mean she ran and hit me like a bull. I flew over three rows of desks and landed under the window. My head was spinning, and my body felt like lead.

  “Stop it! Please stop!” Peter cried a few yards away from the corner. His eyes were closed with his hands over his ears.

  Abigail started briskly towards me, pushing the desks to the side.

  “Dalyn, put the gun down. This was a mistake,” Abigail said in a calm voice, even though her expressions showed pain and anger.

  I pulled myself to my feet and was lifting the gun towards Abigail when she sprinted and pinned me against the glass. The glass started to fracture under the pressure, and I pushed with all my might against her. It was like she was a stone. She grabbed my hand that held the gun and started to pry each finger apart one by one. I tried to grasp her arms with my free hand, but all I could find was the watch on her wrist. I pulled at the watch with all my strength, trying anything to give me leverage. Suddenly she stumbled and let out a small cry. I felt most of the strength leave her body. I closed my fingers over the pistol grip again, but she was not done yet. I now had the upper ground with strength it seemed, but she was still trying to get the gun.

  The gun swung back and forth as she attempted to put all her weight to push my gun to the floor.

  BAM!

  My ears rang. I heard Abigail scream then collapse on the floor with her hand over her chest. Blood trickled over her hands as she cringed in pain.

  Peter had stopped yelling. He gasped, held his hand over his stomach, and fell onto the floor. I looked at Casey, who was now holding the rifle, as Miss Curtiss was on her knees facing Peter and Abigail in horror.

  “No, no.” Tears streamed from her face. “You shot them!”

  As I stood stunned, Miss Curtiss crawled past the strewn desks to Abigail’s side and moved her hands.

  “Thank God, it is just a scratch,” she sighed then got to her feet and flipped Peter over.

  A pool of blood lay under him, but it was not from his stomach—it was from his nose. Miss Curtiss pried Peter’s hands from over his stomach.

  Ting!

  A metal bullet, slightly covered in blood and looking like it had just hit a steel wall, fell to the floor. Miss Curtiss lifted Peter’s shirt, and I lowered the gun in disbelief. Where a hole should have been, there was a red and black welt.

  “He is one too,” Miss Curtiss whispered to herself, placing her hand over Peter’s stomach.

  Miss Curtiss shot me a dirty stare.

  “Why did you do that? You rash boy—you could have killed someone!”

  “I’m…uhh,” I stuttered. “Wait, you are the one who was aiming the gun at us!”

  Miss Curtis sighed.

  “Yes, I guess I did. We thought we were being followed. When you didn't show up for detention on time, we thought they might have gotten you.”

  “What? What are you talking about? Who was following you? Who would try to get us? Coach Roach?” I started.

  I pointed to Peter. “And why is he not dead? Why would you have guns anyways? They are illegal! And how did she throw me across the room? And—”

  “And how did you do what you did when I opened the door?” Miss Curtis interrupted with a slight smirk on her face. Her honeycomb wig had started to slip off, revealing shiny brown hair. “I will explain everything, but we should all go somewhere a bit more safe and private.”

  I raised the gun.

  “I am not going anywhere with you'” I stammered.

  Miss Curtiss smiled.

  “I guess you don't want to know about your frequent headaches?” she asked. “Or maybe some information about your dad would make you reconsider?”

  “Dalyn, let’s just get out of here and tell the Guards!” Casey suggested.

  Abigail sat up, her hand still pressed on her bloody chest.

  “Casey, do you remember that pill you stole from my bag last year during Mountain Training? That’s what made you grow. It was not supposed to be used by normal people like you. What happened to you is a reaction to the serum. Regular people normally die, but you did not.”

  Casey snickered, “Yeah, right.” Then he looked confused.

  I lowered my gun a little and glanced over to Casey. We stared at each other for a second and came to a silent agreement.

  “Where would we go?” I asked.

  “That’s more like it!” Miss Curtiss chimed. “Let’s go to my place. It is empty, and there is nothing around it really. If you two boys could carry Peter and…well, try and make him look like he has some dignity. Oh, and place the guns under my desk if you do not mind. There are clasps under the table, and they should clip in nicely. Now let’s go!”

  Chapter 3

  Casey and I tried supporting Peter between us, but we realized very quickly that Casey would be doing all the lifting.

  We wiped the blood from Peters face, and Casey and I helped him to his feet. Peter would stand, but he would not open his eyes. He mostly just groaned and tilted forward. Casey had to do a sort of a squat in order for Peter’s arms to get around his neck. In normal situations, I would have found this funny. I supported Peter’s other side, but there was very little weight that I was responsible for thanks to Casey.

  Miss Curtiss stepped out into the hallway cautiously and looked down the hall.

  “It looks clear; come on,” Miss Curtiss said in a hushed voice. She had straightened her wig and attempted to fit her crooked spectacles on her nose.

  “I will go on ahead to make sure it is clear,” Abigail suggested.

  “Good idea. Meet us by the tree at the fork in the road before we get to my house,” Miss Curtiss said. “And be careful.”

  Abigail nodded. She glanced at us, and I knew she was wondering if we were worth it or not.

  Abigail tightened her watch and quietly ran down the hallway, vanishing around a corner.

  We waited a minute then started walking towards Miss Curtiss’s house.

  “Miss Curtiss…umm…what does any of this have to do with my dad?” I asked.

  “Really Dalyn, this is not the place to have this discussion. If we are caught, we are all dead!” Miss Curtiss said, looking over her shoulder.

  I started to ask why we would die but decided not push the subject. I felt like she meant it, and that’s what mattered.

  The streets were surprisingly empty for a Sunday, especially with such decent weather. Luckily we took a shortcut through the woods and bypassed part of the town, which helped I suppose.

  We dropped Peter a few times face first in the mud
. We could not help but laugh when we plucked him from the mud: he would gasp and open his eyes wide, then pass out again.

  We stumbled across a few young kids playing near the overgrown road, but they did not pay us any mind. They were too busy watching a turtle cross the road.

  As we got closer to the fork in the road, I saw Abigail’s figure pacing at the foot of the tree. A tinge of guilt and regret flowed through me. The closest I had ever gotten to her and what did I do? Slammed a door into her and shot her.

  I sighed out loud.

  Casey looked over and knew what was on my mind.

  “Man, you did what you had to. We thought we were dead,” he tried to assure me. “And you should have seen the way she threw you across the room like you were nothing. She only had a few feet of momentum too.”

  “That’s not funny,” I said. I could feel my face get red with embarrassment. Being thrown like a ragdoll by the girl of your dreams is not exactly romantic or manly.

  “No, I am serious,” Casey said. “That’s not natural. And how did you move so fast? I mean, the door opened, then all I saw was you jerk before bodies and guns went flying. It was like you knew what was about to happen or something.”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled, “or something.”

  “Don’t feel bad, Dalyn. Abigail is special. Like you and Peter,” Miss Curtiss said thoughtfully.

  “And what about me?” Casey asked.

  “You are an accident. An interesting accident,” Miss Curtis seemed to think out loud.

  Casey looked down like he was hurt.

  When we reached the tree, Abigail came to meet us. She had washed off her wound and placed a bandage over it. She had ripped up her green shirt so it now resembled a tank top, which exposed most of her arms and shoulders. At the sight of her up close, I felt my stomach starting to choke me.