Part Two
If not us, who?
If not now, when?
–Unknown Author
1
Fifteen Years Later
The dark alley was littered with garbage. Newspapers, dated over a decade ago fluttered through the alley as the cool breeze blew into the isolated passage, the only noise to be heeded came from a scruffy calico cat rummaging in a tipped over garbage can near the back of the alley. Abruptly, the cat dived into the safety of the overflowing junk, frightful of the footsteps it heard approaching into its dark sanctuary. From its hide away, the cat watched as a dark figure ran through the alley, splashing into puddles of rainwater before reaching a dead end. The dark figure was cornered. Cornered not by the calico cat, but by those who followed it.
The mysterious character panicked, blazing its eyes through the alleyway, searching for anything that could be used as cover. Eyeing the overturned garbage can, the unknown person corrected it, placing the large pail upright and hiding behind it, being careful to tuck its feet in and curl up into a small black ball. Hopefully, the figure thought, it would be enough.
The mysterious character panicked, blazing its eyes through the alleyway, searching for anything that could be used as cover. Eyeing the overturned garbage can, the unknown person corrected it, placing the large pail upright and hiding behind it, being careful to tuck its feet in and curl up into a small black ball. Hopefully, the figure thought, it would be enough.
This individual was covered, from head to toe, in black clothing. Black shoes, pants, shirt, mask and gloves. The only part of the shadowy entity that was revealed was its deep green eyes. Any of the person’s white skin would have been easy to spot on a night when the moon was full. The slender shape was crouching in puddles of liquid, a nauseous mixture of rotting juices, rainwater and detergents leaking from the garbage, its fumes were noxious enough to almost encourage regurgitation. But the silent character dared not move, not yet. As the wind blew by the curled ball of a person, it could hear the thuds of weighty footsteps. The muscles of the dark figure tensed, hearing the footsteps grow louder. The men who were chasing this shady individual now entered the almost empty alleyway.
Whispering could be heard from the two heavily built military men. They slowly walked towards the dead end, kicking over nearby garbage bins, rifles in hand, ready to shoot at the fleeing fugitive that was now only meters away from them. These men were a part of the country’s new “civil police”, installed only several years back and tasked with quelling riots and to aid in the destruction of the rebellion that this escaping renegade was a part of. Brutal and merciless, this police force was more of a well paid mercenary force than men who would protect and serve. They rarely distinguished between civilian and rebel, killing before one could surrender and executing after one was to lay down their weapons. Yet despite the risk, this cloaked escapee knew that with the information it stole, being killed in an attempt to run was a more desirable fate than being captured alive. In this game of life, the losers, lost big.
The trash canister beside this rebel vibrated and in the dead of night, its sound reverberated through the silent alley. One of the policemen was now thrusting his hand down into the garbage can that the dark individual was crouching behind. The only movement that escaped its body was the quivering of fear. This must be the end. The end of me and the end of our hopes, the person’s thoughts were as dark as the clothes they wore.
As if fate itself was denying this figure’s statement, a calico cat bit the hand that trespassed its dark home and using its claws to climb up the man’s arm, it flew off his shoulder, landing on the ground and running off into the moonlit night. “Damn it! Son of a bitch cat!” The stricken man fired three bullets in the direction of the cat. The cat’s only reply was a loud meow a few seconds later. Laughter could be heard from the entrance of the alley. “Move your ass solider! Whoever it was, they must have run up the street.” In his rage, the man kicked the garbage can, exposing the dark figure that sat crouched behind it. Too afraid to move, the cloaked rebel peeked out from its arms that enclosed its face. The alley was empty once again. Whoever this person was, they were safe once again, as safe as one could be in such times that is. Picking themselves up from the putrid puddle at their heels, the figure quickly ran back into the night, sticking to the shadows. There was no time to wait, this information had to be returned and immediately.
The city was not what it used to be, especially in what were now the ghettos. Streets piled high with rubbish and rubble, collected by wind and sometimes high enough to be used as cover from gun fire. Road blocks and craters in the roads were common as well. Destroyed and leveled buildings were a frequent sight throughout the city and many of such tarnished structures were the only shelter left to many caught in the middle of a power struggle that started fifteen years ago, a struggle between the powerful and the people and this time, the people were not giving up. The people still had hope and the information this renegade had, carried this needed hope. Running though the broken roads of London, it took the fleeing character another two hours of ducking and dodging before it reached a make shift gate, built and guarded by the revolutionaries that called its insides “home”. The gate itself was of poor quality, made of wood, metal and brick, hammered, nailed and cemented time and time again.
At the head of the gate stood six men, each standing behind a small mound to be used as cover. They raised their rifles and aimed at the dark figure that slowly strolled towards them. The ranking guard was the first to speak. “Which shadow are you?”
“The Jaguar’s,” the individual spoke plainly.
“Rules are rules, unveil.” The guard was aware of who was behind the dark clothes, but one could never be too cautious. The dark figure pulled of its mask.
First to be revealed was the red hair that fell behind the rebel’s shoulders. Next was the soft smile, a small button nose and then the green eyes. With the mask now in her hands, the woman looked at the guard who smiled kindly in reply. “May I?” The woman asked.
His reply was courteous as he opened the gate “You may enter, Miss Dalia.”
By Oscar Krol