The sack around Atticus’s neck slapped and bounced off his chest. Squishing noises could be heard and the blood from the piece of meat had soaked through, leaving prints and marks on Atticus’s neck and chest.
There were people he had seen as he was running through Emerald Hall, but no one had stopped him. The guards didn’t even stop him as he stumbled out the front door. In fact, if he had to think about it, it seemed as if they were expecting him and had the door open for him already.
Atticus slowed to a halt from exhaustion and found himself in a random part of town. It was placed dead center from where Io lived and the temple of Ora.
This was an area Atticus never really visited too much in all his nine-teen years of living.
Directly overhead was the Gods Doorway: an open black hole in the ceiling. Because it was both close to the river and had the widest streets made this the main area the gods tended to settle when they came for a visit.
Very few buildings stood but when they did, they stood with two or three walls intact. Due to this being one of the resting places of the gods the buildings had more or less been decimated.
Atticus never liked when they came nor the places they liked to frequent.
The people that tend to live there were the ones that hoped to die via crush instead of drowning in the Abyss. Many were sickly, ill and starving. Patiently waiting for the day that death would take them.
This was the worst place Atticus could have stopped at.
Several eyes had found him and were quick to lock onto the sack around his neck. Atticus tried to cover it, but the signs were there on his chest written in red.
Five–six–no, nearly ten people strode up to Atticus in unison, arms outstretched. Some moved slowly while others closed the distance at an alarming rate.
Atticus untied the string around his neck then held out the meat as far away from him as he could. The people around him followed it with their eyes, drawing ever closer.
The urge to toss it and run was strong but Edan wanted him to consume it. Would he really know if he didn’t? And what if he did find out? What would happen to him? Or to Io and Amara?
Before Atticus could make his decision, someone attacked him from behind. Using a force so strong it knocked him to the ground.
Pandemonium broke out.
Someone clawed and chewed at Atticus’s wrist as they struggled to take the pouch away from him. Another person attempted to drag him away by his ankles. And the man that had attacked him from behind flipped Atticus over onto his back.
Atticus came face to face with the man. The bend in his nose and shape of his chin were terribly familiar to Atticus.
Atticus saw the face of his assaulter and went pale. It was the very man he had stolen the stone from in the mines only a few hours ago.
“Thanks for the meal, kid.” The man grinned before throwing a punch right in Atticus’s jaw.
Black dots floated in Atticus’s vision and his ears rang. Raising his arms around his head he tried to block the onslaught of hits that the man and random people were aiming at him.
The bag of meat he had held was torn from his hands. Despite the fact that he now had nothing they didn’t stop but began to bite into him, tearing at his flesh.
Amidst the chaos Atticus reached into his pocket and felt the useless stone graze his fingers. In a desperate attempt at survival Atticus pulled out the stone and swung it at the first thing he saw.
The stone collided with someone’s head and they cried out in pain. Atticus kept swinging until he found a gap within the mob. He took the opportunity to run, barely managing to get to his feet and break free. He placed the stone in his pocket, ready to use it again if need be.
The crowd that had attacked him followed in hot pursuit. Pain surged through his body. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. The people that chased after him were hungry and had been made blind by their hunger.
Atticus knew that if he was caught, he would die.
“Atticus!” Cornelius screamed.
Atticus turned to the sound. Cornelius waved his arms wildly, standing near the fields and frantically gesturing at Atticus to follow.
Digging deep, Atticus changed his trajectory and raced to Cornelius. The hoard behind him never slowed down.
When Atticus reached his brother, Cornelius took him by the hand and dragged him through the fields.
Ash and dust billowed under their feet as they ran. Dust filling their lungs. Remnants of branches and bones crumbled as they were trampled on. The bright yellow lights that bounced off of crystals pierced the cloudy air as ash particles floated around them.
Cornelius guided Atticus into a cave and through a tunnel. Once inside, several youngbloods rolled a giant stone to close the entrance. Several people that had followed Atticus thrust their hands in the gaps, attempting to catch them. The youngbloods ignored them and continued to close the gap, crushing the arms of the pursuers in the process.
When the door had fully closed, they could still hear the screams and cries of the people outside, but they couldn’t get in.
Atticus laughed nervously as his legs gave out from under him. He collapsed to the ground and began to sob.
Cornelius put a hand on his shoulder, kneeling by his side. “It’s alright now.” Cornelius said. “You’re safe.”
“Thank you!” Atticus sobbed. Then looking to the other youngbloods. “Thank you all! I don’t know if I would have made it without you.”
“You’re right,” A thin youngblood boy said. “You would have been dead.”
“But this puts us in a bad position.” A girl said nervously. “They know we are here now. They’ll come after us and kill us like they did with those girls.”
“You know about that?” Atticus asked in disbelief.
Cornelius stared at the ground; guilt written on his face. “Like I said, we hear more things than people think.” He turned his face to the girl and took her hand in his. “It doesn’t matter if they come after us, we can get out.” Cornelius said confidently.
Atticus got to his feet, drying the tears from his eyes. “What do you mean?” Atticus asked.
“Yes,” The youngblood boy said, turning to Cornelius with his eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”
Fists bashed against the stone from the other side. The people outside continued their attempts to break in. As they peered closer the stone slab shifted ever so slightly. They were about to get in.
The small group stepped back. Whimpers and gasps escaped them as they watched the stone move little by little.
“We need to leave, now.” Cornelius said as he led the way deeper into the cave.
Atticus followed Cornelius as the group weaved their way through twisting tunnels and confusing directions.
“What did you mean by we can get out?” Atticus asked Cornelius as they ran.
“The creatures that I was telling you about,” Cornelius said excitedly. “The ones that built those holes in the ceiling. I stuck my hand in several of them and although I could not reach the end for many of them, I did for one.”
Cornelius stopped then stood on the tips of his toes and pulled Atticus’s face down to meet him at eye level. “My hand went to the end of one of those holes and you know what I felt?” Cornelius asked.
“What?”
“Grass, like the fields used to have. Something cold and wet. And more soil!” Cornelius’s eyes glistened and his smile was wide. The boy was practically bouncing on his toes with excitement as he was talking.
Atticus looked to the ceiling in awe. Just beyond the rock and stone he was used to was something else. Above their heads was soil and who knows what. That didn’t matter. It was something.
“If we make that hole wide enough, we can crawl through and get out! We can find a new home! Leave the gods and the mess they created here.” Cornelius said.
“When will you do that?” Atticus asked.
A loud thud echoed through the tunnels.
Everyone stopped at the sound. The blood drained into Atticus’s feet as he realized what had happened.
“We need to leave now! Everyone! To the tunnels! Make sure the others know.” Cornelius commanded.
The youngbloods scattered, darting through several different tunnels. High pitched whistles sang the same tune and other whistles responded. Cornelius took Atticus by his wrist and dragged him forward, but Atticus forced them both to stop.
“What are you doing? We need to leave!” Cornelius hollered.
“I know, but I can’t leave without Io and Amara. I can’t do that again! Not when things are like this.” Atticus pleaded.
Cornelius opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. He nodded then led Atticus through a series of complex routes. After several turns, things began to look familiar to Atticus.
“I know where this is.” Atticus said.
“Good.” Cornelius said. He turned to Atticus then pointed to a narrow tunnel that was somewhat hidden behind a wall. “When you get those two bring them back to the catacombs. Follow the usual route and when you get here take that tunnel. It’ll lead you to where I had taken you before. Hopefully by then the hole will be wide enough to escape through.”
The two stood, unwilling to move but knowing full well they needed to separate.
Atticus faced Cornelius, the youngblood suddenly very small and fragile looking. There would be no way he would be able to fight off the people if they caught him. It would be certain death. Would this be the last time he saw his brother if something bad were to happen? Would they be able to beat the odds? Would they be able to find each other after they split? Would this be the last time he ever saw Cornelius?
Atticus closed the distance between him and Cornelius and threw his arms around his brother. Cornelius froze at the sudden embrace but soon returned it. Squeezing Atticus with surprising strength.
When the two pulled apart both smiled warmly.
“Be quick.” Cornelius said. “And be safe.”
“The same for you, Cornelius.” Atticus said.
Atticus turned away and made his way through the tunnels. A high-pitched whistle echoed through the tunnel walls from behind. Cornelius signaling the others to him.
As Atticus passed by the tomb that housed his own whistle. He stopped and took it, putting it in his pocket. After that he darted the rest of the way until he found himself back in the temple of Ora.
Stepping outside onto the flight of stairs shouts and cries filled the air. Atticus peered over the edge to the ground. Clusters of mobs were engaged in combat. Men on top of men, tearing at each other. Women clawing at women. Blood stained the roads and the river, dying it red.
The Pantry was filled with people, pushing the walls until it titled over and crumbled. The soldiers were long gone. Any food that may have been there was nowhere to be seen.
Everything was destroyed.
No place was safe anymore.
Atticus darted down the stairs, running at full speed. The thought of Io and Amara flooded his mind.
Was he too late?
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