Chapter 45: Taran

I'm shocked by the dust and smoke filling the air as we step out the front doors of the Tower. The cloud from the explosion seems to have moved quickly, swathing the city. All four of us, Garrett, Dee, Milla, and I, stare to the west where great billows of smoke are rising up into the air and being pushed outward by the wind. It's difficult to see the extent of the damage past the other buildings, but the sheer amount of dust flying toward us indicates that the rebels meant business when they decided to take down a section of the wall.
"Explosives," Garrett mutters as he opens the door to a vehicle. Milla and Dee climb in without a second thought. I pause for a second, torn. The destruction of the wall is a huge step in the rebellion. I don't know why they've done it, but I do know they would have to have a good reason. Even if I don't agree with the method. Someone could've been killed.
"Taran," Garrett snaps impatiently from next to his vehicle indicating that I should get in.
I slide in beside Dee as he slams the door shut. We hurtle through what used to be downtown Tucson. The streets are filled with people checking out the source of the explosion. Garrett is forced to dodge them and when the crowd becomes too thick for him to pass, he presses something on his steering wheel that makes an awful blaring sound. All of us jump and he musters, "It's a horn, ladies. Most vehicles have them, but only a few still work."
A few blocks later we arrive on the outskirts of Sector One, where houses line the streets in what used to be an upscale urban neighborhood. The homes are still lovely, but the same disrepair that marks everything is here as well. Garrett stops in front of a large house with pretty, freshly painted trim and actual grass in the yard.
"I think I'll stay with Milla, if you don't mind," Dee announces, sliding out the door with her friend. "I'd rather not be alone until this fuss is sorted out."
Garrett grunts his acknowledgment and tells them, "Stay inside, lock the doors. Go to the cellar if there's any trouble. Keep your radio on you in case you need to be moved."
They murmur their agreement and then hurry inside, slamming the door shut behind them. I'm still staring in bewilderment at what looks like a lawn ornament in the shape of a tall pink bird standing on one leg. "So this is how the elites live."
Garrett grunts a laugh, though the sound doesn't hold much humour. "Some of them. But most of us live like the Warlord. Even on this side of the checkpoints, there aren't a lot of resources to go around. Some of the people around here have decided that extravagances, like paint and lawn care will bring back the normalcy and comfort of the 20th century. Others of us are more practical."
I think about it for a few minutes and then I say, "I suppose we do the same sort of thing in the slums. We want to preserve the parts of our dying world that bring us a sense of nostalgia, even if it doesn't serve a purpose."
"Part of being human," Garrett agrees, and I nod.
As we attempt to make our way back to the Tower, the streets become even more crowded with concerned citizens. Some are holding children, some are shouting and pointing, while others are just frowning and watching the action. Finally, Garrett is forced to stop the car as we're surrounded by people. They recognize him as Authority and start banging on the windows, wanting information.
"What's happened?" Someone shouts.
"Are we under attack?" Another asks hysterically.
"It is the Primitives?"
I flinch back as someone bangs hard on the window next to my face. Garrett reaches out and squeezes my arm. "We'll be okay," he tells me. "But we can't stay here. I need to get you to the Tower, where it's safe."
"I don't think we'll be able to drive through this crowd," I say worriedly.
"We'll have to walk," he agrees, failing to keep the concern from his voice.
I take a breath and reach for my door. "We'll be fine, Garrett. I trust you."
He nods. "Let's go."
We open our doors and get out. Garrett slams his door shut and fights his way around to my side where I stand clinging to the frame. He takes my arm in a firm grip and starts manoeuvring me through the crowd, away from the worst of it. Once we reach a clearer section he speeds up, forcing me to run behind him.
"We're going to take a shortcut," he growls over his shoulder. "I don't like having you on the street like this. If anyone decides the rebels are to blame and recognizes you, you could get hurt."
Before I can respond he drags me into the nearest side street. As soon as we're clear of the street he starts running. I'm forced to sprint to keep up with his longer strides. There are still people everywhere, but some of them definitely don't belong in the elite sector. I recognize one person, a rebel. A troublemaker, not just a critic of the city officials. The man stops when he sees us and starts following our hurried footsteps. I twist around as I run, watching him, beginning to suspect this rebel plot might involve me in some way.
As if sensing trouble brewing, Garrett stops and turns to me. "Sorry about this, Mrs. Fuentes," he mutters. I wonder why he's suddenly calling me Mrs. Fuentes instead of just Taran, when he hauls me toward him and swings me up into his arms. I cling to him as he runs full tilt back toward the Tower. Footsteps dog our progress, hitting the pavement all around us. I try to see what's happening but I'm being jostled, my view cut off by Garrett's hulking form.
He zigzags through the streets, but he doesn't know them like I do, like the other rebels who've memorized every building and every street, until we learned how to move through them like shadows. Dark figures jump out of buildings, blocking our path and forcing us to turn abruptly and run in another direction. I realize quickly that we're being herded. Soon after, Garrett realizes the same thing.
He stops abruptly before we can hit the dead end of a street. He drops me to my feet and swings me behind his back faster than I know what's happening. He covers me with his body while pulling his sidearm and a knife. I reach for his arm and then stop myself. I don't want to hinder his movements if he needs to defend us.
"Be careful," I say to him desperately as shadows begin to converge, stepping through the dust filling the air around us.
My heart pounds in fear as we're completely surrounded. I peek around Garrett's shoulder. 6 men, all wearing heavy clothes with either scarves covering the lower half of their faces, or ghoulish Day of the Dead face paint.
One man steps forward. He's wearing a scarf over his face and a felt cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. I've seen that hat before. "Drop your weapon, Authority, and we won't kill you. We just want the Desert Wren."
Garrett steps back, crowding me into the wall behind us. "Not a fucking chance," he says, doing his best to shield me from view. My heart sinks. I know who he's talking to and he won't hesitate in killing Garrett to get to me.
"Suit yourself." Xavier lifts his rifle. "Taran, duck."