Ezra
The pale light of the moon cuts through the morning mist with all the precision of a knife. It seems to split the droplets in half and make a pathway for me through the alley. Buildings rise on either side of me, lit on fire by the sun rising to my left.
I take another shaky step, making sure to place my foot somewhere away from the countless piles of trash lest I make a sound. One wrong move, and the radars will pick me up.
My white uniform reflects the moon's light. I wonder if that's why they designed the uniforms in such a way, so they could always spot us in the thick darkness of the city.
A siren sounds nearby, and I throw myself behind a dumpster. My breath catches in my throat. I clamp a hand around my mouth to prevent the strangled cry from escaping.
They aren't coming after me. I'm safe. I'm hidden.
Thomas removed the tracking device from my neck days ago. As far as the government knows, I'm dead.
Well, until I broke into their security headquarters an hour ago.
"I'm picking up some heat traces this way, Captain."
My head turns towards the low female voice at the mouth of the alley. Three shadows loom there, holding long guns. The moon catches off their badges and reflects sharp shards down towards me. The balls of light dance around my feet, and I shuffle back a few more feet.
"Go see what it is, deputy," the taller shadow barks, extending a white uniformed arm towards me. "We will move on. Surely you can handle one teenage delinquent."
The female laughs.
"Permission to shoot to kill?" she asks. "These rebels are getting out of hand. They're recruiting as young as possible nowadays."
"Permission granted," her captain states, walking away. "Remember they're rebels, not children. They made the decision to act against the government. They deserve to die."
He leaves her shadow alone, then, taking the other officer with him.
His words chill my blood.
Rebels.
Is that what they're calling us now?
Last month, it was idealists. I haven't heard the term 'rebel' in years. I guess they're tired of the citizens sympathizing with us. When they coined us as 'idealists' people thought we were harmless children, a group of kids with nothing better to do than sit around and dream up a better world.
Not that it's hard.
Yet, 'rebels' fits better. Ever since we started fighting back and decided that we deserved to live.
I creep towards the back of the overflowing dumpster. Sneaking out of the back is the only option. Thomas is waiting for me. Without looking back, I clutch the disk to my chest and take off at a sprint.
"Hey! Stop!"
The woman spots me the moment I break out into the mist. The sound of gunfire erupts around me, and I duck. A bullet grazes my shoulder, tearing through my thin shirt like butter. As I turn the corner, I press a hand to my arm. Warm liquid greets me there, and I wince.
It could have been worse.
My heart races in my chest as the footsteps grow nearer, louder, and quicker behind me. Every now and again, she will fire again, but I'm fast.
Fast and small.
She can't get a good shot at me.
Not to mention, she and I both know where I'm heading.
YOU ARE READING
The Island
Science Fiction"This is The Island, a prison designed for minors like me- too young to be executed, too old to be reformed, and too much of a stain on humanity to let exist. It was 'the answer' to the growing crime rate resulting from a world that was falling apar...
