Complication

Chapter Twelve

Glen’s camp was not well hidden, it couldn’t be. It consisted of more than a dozen large tents, each one bright white with a black marking of the Great City’s logo on the sides. A small fleet of hot air balloons, excavation machines, and two large cargo airships to haul it all were parked in a simi-circle encompassing the camp. Glen came prepared to move mountains, if necessary, and it was all set up in the one place that would allow such a big operation- out in the open.

Debora and the twins stood on top of a ridge and took turns peering down through a pair of binoculars.

“Doesn’t look heavily guarded,” Debora said. She panned the binoculars across the camp looking for any sign of life. “It doesn’t look guarded at all, but there is no telling how many people are in those tents.” She lowered the binoculars and handed them off. “What do we do?”

“We don’t have many options,” said one of the twins as he started down the ridge. The other one followed behind him.

“Wait, we can’t just walk up to their camp without a plan.”

The first twin stopped. “I do have a plan,” he assured, “I plan to move fast and follow that gulch to limit our chances of being seen.”

Debora looked unsure, even disappointed. “Yeah, then what?”

“I don’t know, perhaps you think we should tunnel our way in?”

Debora realized she had no other option to offer, so they started down, not with high hopes, but scuffing their feet along the stony ground, feeling more like they were surrendering.

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The secure location in which Michael was placed was a tall hard-shelled structure, some kind of a storage unit. He had been thrown through a hatch door that was sealed so tight that he could hardly locate it. The walls were ridged for strength. Three quarters of the way up, he could see a ledge where the top of the structure was bolted to the bottom. Above that were its only openings, slits for ventilation. Sunlight poured through and heated up the container to an almost unbearable temperature. Michael dropped his jacket to the floor and un-tucked his shirt. After several dozen, anxious paces back and forth he finally settled against the wall.

Michael heard tapping. No, walking. Someone was on top of the container. He looked up and saw a shadow move across the slats. With a hand up to block some of the light, he squinted and looked back and forth along the length of the container. Something hit him in the face. He flinched and brushed it away. A moment later something else dropped onto his shoulder and fell to the ground at his feet. It was a small pebble. He picked it up and rolled it between his finger and thumb. A few more fell.

“Hello?” Michael called weakly, unsure if he wanted an answer from whoever was up there. No response came, but he could still hear a pair of clunky feet moving about somewhere above him.

Michael climbed the ridges and grasped onto the ledge below the slits and looked out. Next to his container was a shorter storage container, the top littered with sand and stone, a few fresh foot prints clearly marked out where somebody had been walking.

A pair of loose fitting boots dropped in front of Michael’s face, causing him to lose his toehold on the little ridges and slide back down to the floor with a good amount of speed. There was laughter from above. Michael caught some composure, and when the laughter stopped he climbed back up the wall and looked out again. He saw a young boy, probably in his early teens. He had fair skin and wore a french cap. His clothes were baggy and dirty and worn out at his knees and elbows.