Baylee Wilkins
Mrs. Rutan
Creative Writing
8 December 2013
Red Flag
	The four of us walked on the same feet and the same time as soundlessly as possible. The ground was black and charred like most of the ground I had ever seen. We were outside, in the gray sunlight, on our first practice mission. 
	My team seemed nervous; their eyes were darting back and forth and they occasionally slipped and cursed frustratedly under their breath. Lorcan seemed to be the most nervous. The boy was sixteen and smart enough, quick enough, and strong enough to advance two years early. He had curly blonde hair that had just been shaved a week ago—the day the Authorities announced our teams—and it had already grown out again messily. His eyes were wide and innocent looking. He trailed directly behind me, while two others flanked both of my sides. 
	I was the Leader. In each team there are four people: Leader, in charge of the team and keeping everyone alive, the highest position, and three Followers. One Follower is an expert in weaponry—the Westerns use guns. This is the person who flanked my left, Arras. He used to be an expert in technology, sending codes and messages through our technological system to our allies. But they decided to switch him to weaponry and put him on a team. Arras was burly with a stern face. He didn't talk much, which was pleasant. 
	One Follower is an expert in planning and spying—Lorcan Barloc, the young nervous one behind me, with forever watchful, wide eyes. 
	The third Follower is an expert in combat; the female to my right whom I have never heard another name for except “Q.” Last week, when the Authorities began to announce her name, she stood and told them, “My name’s Q.” Her boots made a pounding noise as she swaggered up to me. “Just Q. Like the letter.” Since then, I have inferred some information on her. The first piece was that she was wicked fast and exceptional at fighting hand-to-hand. The second was that she was always telling other trainers about birds. This might not be so strange, except that no one has seen a bird since the bombings in 2021 began. It has been 84 years since the start of WWIII, and is now 2105. Birds aren't important unless they will help us win the war. 
	The last fact, which I have gathered in just the week of training and working with her before the start of our mission today, is that Q is fierce, lethal, and stubborn. Much like myself, only I am able to handle my emotions more efficiently than she.
	 I checked over my right shoulder to see her. Her hair was black and messy—never worn in the traditional braid women are made to wear by law. Her eyes were a bright shade of something between green and blue, which had intrigued me since I met her. Her brows were pulled slightly together; always calculating something she never told anyone about. She could sense me looking at her and she looked up. We each met the other’s gaze, and neither would be the first to look away.
	“It's strange not having the Authorities watching our every move.” Lorcan observed.
	“It is.” I agreed, my voice sounding too deep and loud compared to Lorcan's and the quietness of the scorched, used-to-be forest. 
	The Authorities are the Westerns's form of government. The Westerns being the United States and our neighboring countries—Canada and Mexico. Authorities are officials of everything in our lives. They control everything to the amount of water we get to shower, to how much food a family gets each day. They kept everything in line, and in order, which I respected. As long as they helped us win the war, they didn't concern me too much. 
	“Don’t be stupid.” Q chuckled. “They’re always watching us.” 
	“Well, maybe for you...” Lorcan thought aloud. 
	I supposed the kid was right. Q was always watched by the Authorities. She had a habit of disobeying rules and laws that she could easily abide by. A part of me thought perhaps she willingly got herself in trouble to make some sort of point. This notion was ridiculous because there was no point to make. The Authorities had been our government since the early years of the war. They did the right things, everything was as fair as they could make it, and without them our forces would be in chaos and we would be obliterated. It really was simple.
	“No, you're all being watched. Every second you are breathing, they watch you.” Q spoke with an iciness that made me feel she may be able to breathe fire while the Authorities were watching her.
	“What about you, big guy?” Q said.
	No one answered her, so I assumed she was speaking to me. “My name is Ekon Knox.” I said, trying not to sigh. “You can address me by that.”
	“Well you're big. You're a guy. I guess I could call you 'tough guy' or 'big arms' or—“
	I whipped around to face her. “Or you could call me Knox. Or Ekon. There will be no other name, because that is how it is supposed to be.”
	Q was a challenge, but I was rarely faced with challenges. I was the strongest, and the quickest thinker in my year of trainers. I followed the rules. I only thought about things that would help me. That is what made me successful. She would follow the rules. It was my job to make sure she would. 
	I turned back on my heel and resumed walking up the mountain. At the top of the mountain was a red flag we were to retrieve and bring back to our compound—the underground city we lived in. When the flag is returned to the Authorities, we will be able to go out to the real war, and fight as our team. 
	This was our practice mission. We could not fail. I would not fail. I didn't know what would happen if I did not become part of the war. I had trained for all of my life—eighteen years—to be a team Leader. I had no idea what else I would do. There was no room for failure or a mistake. Everything had to be planned, carried out without error and exactly by the rules. That is how my team would succeed.
	“So how old are all of you?” Arras asked quietly.
	“Sixteen. I was advanced because I'm so good looking.” Lorcan said. The Followers chuckled. I thought about smiling, but decided against it.
	“I'm eighteen,” Q said, “and I was waiting for the past two years to be advanced too, considering I never do anything wrong.” 
	This got much laughter from the three talkers. Everyone knew about Q's passion for causing trouble.
	“I'm thirty-two. My daughter is seven.” Arras said. It was recommended to have at least one teammate at twenty-eight or older, though they could never be the leader because they usually had families. 
	“Where's your wife?” Lorcan asked. 
	“They didn't need her on the tech team. She wasn't in good enough shape to go to a war team. She was thirty-five, so they sent her away.”
	I felt something in my chest then for a moment that I assumed was sympathy. In our war-dominating society, sending someone “away” really could mean anything. Basically, the Authorities get rid of the people who are not useful to the war anymore. The average lifespan is about thirty-five. No one knows what happens to those people; maybe they are killed, or sent to live in a desolate area where their brains are erased. I have not thought much on the matter—it will not help the Westerns win the war, so it is not worth the time to think about.
	“How about you, Knox?” Arras said, clearly not wanting to express his feelings on the matter.
	A twig broke to my left. It was at about eight o'clock, maybe thirty yards. 
	Sometimes the Authorities send out teams of other Westerns to sabotage a new team's mission. It is just a challenge they have to go through. However, the people sitting in the trees above us were not Westerns. They wore very little clothing, leather here and there, and they almost all had dark hair and eyes—Island Rebels. 
	When the war began, all neighboring countries teamed up, as this was convenient. Africa and other small islands and countries did not have the technology at the time to mass produce guns and bombs. They were, however, the most lethal and merciless group in the war. I didn't know how they got so deep into the middle of North America without being noticed, but now they hopped down from tree branches at all angles. 
	They were all male with muscles so large they looked like they might pop, and scowls so deep I knew we would not compromise. I made eye contact with Q. “We're outnumbered.” I whispered.
	“What's the plan, Knox?” Lorcan's eyes were skipping around.
	My pride told me we should try to fight them, but Rebels were not known for their mercy. “We run. Directly to the right. Now!”
	We broke off in a sprint. Our black leather boots pounded the charred ground. During the first few years of the war, China and Russia bombed the U.S. into oblivion. The ground and ecosystem has never recovered and never will. That is why we live underground in our compounds. Now, all that remains is ash and charred, dead plants and bones. Black trees blurred past us as we ran. My heart thumped so quickly I thought it might burst. 
	We skirted around the side of the mountain—where the red flag still sat. It was all I saw in my mind. The flag. We must get the flag. But we couldn't with dogs on our heels. The ground was slanted, creating an even harder challenge.
	Since all of the bombings, Earth has been out of balance. The ozone layer around the earth has rips and tears. This makes weather change dramatically and without warning. Our journey today so far had been mild—hot but not deadly. Now the sun was directly above us. 
	The Island Rebels were on us. They were fast, and had no fear. 
	We were panting hard, but we were determined. Thankfully, a cloud passed in front of the sun, providing us with relief for a moment while sweat streamed from our skin. 
	We kicked up ash with our heals, hoping with everything we had that it would blind our attackers. We sprinted for maybe three miles before the air grew murky and sticky. Fog began to curl up from our sides. It swirled around heavily and created an illusion of the ground being closer than it was. Lorcan tripped over his own foot and fell face first into the earth. I reached into the fog—which was so dense it felt like water—and pulled him up. 
	We continued our race until our muscles began to twitch and cramp. We all were mildly limping. The Rebels were tiring too, they were slowing, not barking as much. More clouds began rolling in, making the air dark around us, and the fog enclosed us like a blanket. Then a stripe of white light crashed from the sky. The fog lit up so bright we were blinded. My team skidded to a stop and Arras slipped down into the fog. Another bolt lit the fog so white we shielded our eyes and Q ducked. 
	Several more bolts hit. When they stopped, the clouds lightened, and we noticed we were alone. But we weren't alone. The Rebels were here, somewhere in the fog. 
	“Hone ka hua!” One huge Rebel popped up from the fog a few yards away. Then about ten others grew from the ash and fog. Our eyes were still recovering, everything was a gray swell. 
	“Hone ka hua!” The man said again. His machete was pointed at us.
	Arabic. They are speaking Arabic. We were trained to recognize the languages that were most common in the war.
	“Datoy eh ha!” Another yelled. 
	My mind raced. I did not want to fight them. I was not afraid, but we were out numbered. The odds were against us. 
	“They are saying 'give it.'” Q whispered.
	“Uhna?” I said, which translates roughly to What?
	“Del ha en!” The traitor.
	The group of Island Rebels—which I counted as ten—moved in slowly; swords, machetes, and maces raised. 
	They all had their eyes on Arras.
	This was not an obstacle the Authorities had sent. 
	“They want me,”  Arras said to our team. “If I go, I don’t think they’ll hurt you all.”
The thirty-two year old man looked to me—his eighteen-year-old Leader. I regarded him and then I could see it, the Rebels and Arras had the same skin tone, the same eye shape. They thought Arras was one of them.  
	One man for three of us. It would be a trade. This moment would define my future. So quickly my future would be lost. If I returned with one less teammate, we all might be sent “away.” But if we fought these Rebels, they might take us all. They might kill us all. Either way, the red flag was no longer my goal. My new objective, was to keep as many teammates alive as possible.  To do that, Arras had to go.
	I nodded at Arras. 
	Q’s face lit with rage. “No! No Arras don’t—“ 
	“It is not your decision.” I said. I would be to blame for this. No one else. 
	I reached my hand out to Arras. He grasped it, looked into my eyes, and walked forward to the Rebels. 
	The man who seemed to be the leader smiled.
	In the depths of my heart, I knew, for a fact, that Arras would not see tomorrow. He would not see his seven-year-old daughter again. 
	The leader held his curved sword to Arras’s throat. “You stay here.” He snarled at us three remainders.
	The Rebels took Arras away then, with one lingering behind to make sure we stayed. I was thinking about shooting him when he whipped a knife at us. The dagger sank swiftly into Lorcan's calf with perfect precision. 
The kid fell down on his opposite hip with a scream through clenched teeth. Q and I turned and leaned over him.
	In those few seconds, the knife-thrower had darted away while our backs were turned. We had no sight of him. 
	“That bastard!” Q hissed. “It's okay Lorcan. You'll be alright, we'll take you—” It was then that I saw reality hit Q's face like a punch. We couldn't go back now, not all of us. If they wanted to go back, they'd have to leave me behind. I chose to give away a teammate. I chose the easy way out. I... failed them. 
	Her eyes seemed to catch fire. “You!” She stood and pushed my chest with the heels of her palms. “You bastard! You let him go! You coward! How dare you not fight for your team?”
 I wanted to fight the Rebels, but I knew we could not win. I felt terrible, but there was nothing to do, now.
	“Guys. Guys there's a knife in my leg.” Lorcan called from the ground behind Q. Crimson blood covered the leg of his uniform. I knew by his eyes he was scared. His face was contorted in pain and he only watched as the dagger sat deep beside his shin. Q turned from me, bent down, and gripped the handle of the knife in Lorcan's calf. “Sorry,” she muttered as she pulled the knife straight out.
Lorcan let out a yell and started coughing. He was trying to be tough, strong. I observed him and tried to decide whether or not I thought he was.
	 “We need to find water. We won't make it without water.” Q said. Then, reality coming back to her again, she looked me in the eye—I could almost see an orange flame. “You're an ass.” She spat. She grabbed her canteen and headed off without orders. 
	I helped Lorcan over to a tree to lean against. I bandaged his leg clumsily, too entertained by thoughts of Q. As I bandaged, the fog melted away into the air as if it had never existed. I decided the best word for her was “interesting.” She was interesting. She did things on her own terms, said what she wanted, cared about so little and yet so much. She talked lazily. She was strong. I had never met anyone I disliked and disapproved of so much, yet she intrigued every part of me.
	When I finished with the bandage, Lorcan looked at me. I was about to tell him it was bad, really bad. I was about to tell him he would be lucky to make it a couple days without a medical treatment. But before I could say anything he looked at me with playful eyes. “She's hot isn't she?” He swallowed down an obvious wave of pain. “I'll let you have her. That's good of me isn't it?” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a slight grin. I liked Lorcan. Even in raging pain, the kid was able to make a joke. 
	Q came back with water and the makings of a fire.
	“She drives me crazy,” I told him without meaning to.
	Lorcan raised and lowered his eye brows playfully. Then, “So what's the result, Doc?”
	“You'll be fine. Looks worse than it is. Bleeding should stop soon.” I lied. I truly did want him to be fine though. I wanted him to live. I liked having him around. But he would not be fine, the blood would not stop soon. Most of all, it was worse than it looked. The internal damage would cause him to bleed out, if he didn't die from infection first. 
	We made a fire at dark. We were supposed to have gotten back to the compound by morning, with the red flag. We weren't going to. 
	Lorcan fell asleep quickly, and soon after his face began to sweat. His body twitched in his slumber but his leg never moved in unison. The knife was 3 inches across the blade. The kid was in serious trouble. Lorcan was good-looking, with blue eyes that seemed so genuine and a smile he wore too much. He wasn't smiling now.
	The fire cast shadows on the hallows of Q's face and neck. She looked like she was glowing.	She spoke softly, for the first time in hours. “There's a place, further north, where there are no Authorities. The people there govern themselves and trade with each other. They're... Free.”
	That last word threw cold shivers down my spine. She came and sat next to me.
	“That's where my mother is. She left her team when I was nine. My father died on the fields the next day.”
	“She abandoned her own team?” I was perplexed.
	“In a way. She didn't believe our government was right. So she left and flew like a bird to the North. I still communicate with her.”
	“That's illegal.” I was not shocked though.
	“I don't care. It shouldn't be. She's my mother.”
	I opened my mouth to protest, but I had learned that got me no where with Q. So instead, I decided to let her in on my life as well. “My parents abandoned me when I was a few months old. An Authority found me in the woods. I stayed with him until I was twelve. Ever since then, I've lived on my own. In my own space.” A space was what we called our underground homes.
	“So you owe your whole life to the Authorities, and that's why you believe in them so much.”
	“I guess so.” I admitted, though I had never thought I needed a reason to believe in them.
	We sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the dead forest. It was companionable, sweet silence.
	“I would have done the same thing. With Arras.” Q said slowly, nodding as she talked. “One man for three people. It's a good deal. Plus, you made it so none of us could take the blame for it. Lorcan and I can go back in the morning, and they'd have to take us back into the compound. We could go back to living our normal lives.”
	My heart sank and I didn't know why, but I kept my eyes trained on the ground at my feet. “So, you're going back then?”  We had no other option, but I hadn't thought about it. If we went back, I wouldn't be allowed to stay. I'd be sent “away,” and Q and Lorcan would be reassigned to a new Leader. I wanted them to go back, to have a new life. But I also wanted them to stay, and we would work things out on our own. We'd live on our own, live without the Authorities.
	“Nah I don't think so.” She said casually. “Who else would you have to boss around if we left?”
	I laughed. The more I laughed the better I felt. It got colder outside, but I was warmer inside and I laughed at nothing for the first time in my eighteen years. Q laughed with me. Our laughter seemed to fill up the dark around us, and inside us. We were all mutually alone now. We could never go back. We were outcast. That was never how I had pictured my life.
	It was hilarious. 
	Then, quickly and abruptly, Q pressed her lips to mine. Any kind of romantics between teammates was forbidden. I stiffened. Q did not, in fact my need to follow the rules seemed to only fuel her fire to break them. I put my hand up to stop her but then I felt how warm she was. So I laid my hand on her shoulder and did not stop her, because this night was too cold, too lonely, too far from home, and Q was too beautiful, too strong, too intelligent, and too interesting for me not to kiss her back. 
	So I broke the rules and kissed her with everything I had. It was sudden, too fast to be real. But it was real, and it made me feel real with a new kind of purpose.
	I cannot tell how much time passed while I broke the rules, it was several hours because I had dozed. I was awake and watching Q smile in her sleep when Lorcan's upper half shot up in his sleep.
	“Ten o'clock!” He wheezed. His face was soaked in sweat. His expertise in spying was helpful.
	Q and I shot up and raised our guns to our forward left. Lorcan reached and gathered his gun on the ground along with a sleeve of knives.
	We waited.
	“Whoosh.” An arrow zipped past my ear. 
	I shot in the direction it came from and the bullet connected with the forehead of a man dressed in black. A case of green and orange arrows was strapped to his back. He hit the ground with a thud.
	Romans were notorious for their poisoned arrows. Green was a concoction that froze your muscles so you could not breathe. Death was immediate. Orange was some sort of depressant that would put the receiver in a coma until woken by a special stimulant only the Romans made. Orange was usually used to bring a soldier back with them for torture or questioning.
	“Romans,” I whispered.
	Men dressed in all black came out from behind trees, shooting arrows with perfect accuracy. Q and I guarded Lorcan because he could not dodge any arrow without a leg working correctly. Short arrows flew in all directions and bullets ticked out by the tens. 
	“Look—” Lorcan warned. But he was not quick enough, and nor was I, because a stout Roman came from behind and tackled me. We fell to the charred forest floor and he landed two punches to my jaw. I struggled for a moment, and lifted my knees up and shoved him hard in the chest with my feet. He fell to his back and I pounded his nose like a drum with my fist. He kneed me in the ribs and I winced. He took the advantage and wrestled himself on top of me. Three more hits. My eyes began to blur with sweat or fading consciousness. “Lorcan.” I called through bloody teeth.
	He knew what I wanted. I heard the slight zing and he pulled a knife out of the sleeve. “8 o'clock.” He told me. When we train at school, we learn to throw knives to one another. I positioned my hand and arm and waited for the handle of the knife that I knew would come in my 8 o'clock range. 
	The Roman threw his knee and weight into my thigh, and elbowed me in the stomach. I used the momentum the lack of air gave me to grab the knife that landed perfectly in my palm, and thrust it into the Roman's neck.
	Q shot him for good measure. Then two more were on her. One landed a blow to her cheek and she used the butt of her gun to smash his temple inward. 
	I raised my gun to shoot the other Roman.
	“Ah!” A tall Roman barreled at me with an orange arrow clasped in his fist. He knocked me over and we struggled. If I let the needle touch me, I would go unconscious instantly. 
	I held off the Roman's hand with my forearm and he stabled himself by using his other hand to choke me. He had malice in his eyes, and those eyes were growing cloudier by the second. Sweat seeped into my eyes.
	“Lorc—” Q's air was sucked away by a knee to her gut. She punched and kicked but her opponent was fast. She was calling to Lorcan who now had a very large Roman on him, holding a knife to his throat. My eyes were going dark now. My head seemed much clearer and yet I couldn't get a simple thought across. Who am I fighting? 
	My hand clawed around like a crab until it touched something soft. An arrow. 
	Not caring what color, I jammed the needle of the arrow into the Roman's side and threw him off of me. He twitched and then stopped abruptly. Green.
	Q was slamming her elbow into her opponent's temple. I scrambled for my gun. It was on the ground where I had first been attacked. I picked it up and shot Q's Roman. Then I shot twice at the back of Lorcan's opponent, who had managed to make a small cut in the kid's throat.
	I spun when I heard a noise behind me. The last Roman was running up to me and he let an arrow fly. It missed me by a sad, unimpressive amount and I shot him between the eyes.
I stowed my gun in my holder and allowed myself to pant and feel my wounds. Bruise on my thigh, cracked ribs, my jaw seemed to be fine and I only had a few bleeding scrapes. “Q, Lorcan. Damage?”
I breathed heavy and closed my eyes. 
	“My neck's bleeding.” Lorcan said shakily. “Oh and I think there's something wrong with my leg.” 
	I smiled a little, and didn't make myself stop. “Q? You took some decent hits. You okay?”
	I waited for her to tell me not to worry about her, but I didn't hear anything at all.
	“Q, damage.” I demanded. 
	“Q?” Lorcan said softly.
I lifted my head and turned to see her asleep on the ground. Her hair fell messily around her head like a halo. She was beautiful asleep. Just as beautiful as she was awake, only slightly less malicious.
	I walked up to her, ready to assess her damage myself and leave her to her sleep when I saw the odd angle that she lied. I saw through a slash in her shirt that her stomach was not rising with breath. 
	I saw an arrow beneath her color bone. 
	Green.
	I sank to my knees at her side. I watched her as she didn't move. Didn't breathe. Didn't laugh. Didn't yell. Didn't live.
	The last Roman had not missed his target after all. 
	I held her cold hand in mine. She was dead. I had kissed her minutes ago, felt her warmth and her life. I had laughed with her, and she was happy, alive. 
	I had not told her how much that meant and how absolutely free she made me feel.
	Free. Free like the birds she spoke of. Free like her mother, traveling North. Free like her soul, moving up. She was going North too. 
	Something clicked in my mind. Her mother left her team and flew like a bird to the north, where they are free. Free-Birds. She had always told other trainers about Free-Birds. Hearing the name came flooding back to me. She had said it so many times at school and to the team. Free-Birds were people no one knew about. They were a secret. 
	Not anymore.
	She would never stop intriguing me. Even in death, she was teaching me something new. Her soul was going North, so we would too. I kissed her lips once more.
	I stood and looked at Lorcan. “Let's go.” I said.
	“Where? Is she...”
	“She's dead. Cold. We're leaving, heading north.” 
	The truth was, my heart seemed to be in two pieces, and I could not loose Lorcan, or it would disintegrate. He had maybe a day or two left, by the way things were looking.
	“North?” Lorcan questioned.
	I gathered him across my shoulders, tightened by backpack, tossed a blanket over him and looked once more at Q. 
	“I'm sorry.” I whispered, somehow knowing she could hear me. 
	I broke off in a jog, heading north to the Free-Birds.
	
	For the first day we traveled, Lorcan spoke softly on my back about his life. He sang the only song we knew; the song teams sang before battle. At night he trembled in fitful sleep. 
	I have had nightmares every night since I can remember. The only night I hadn't had them, was the night I had spent with Q, right before her death. I think it had something to do with her company, because for once in the last six years since I got my own space, I wasn't alone. I had nightmares the following night that tormented me. 
	The next day, Lorcan couldn't stand. I looked at his wound. It was black, and his foot was loosing color. His face had sunk in in his cheeks, and his eyelids hung on his eyes.  I gave him every piece of clothing in my backpack, and we ate the last of our food, drank the last drop of our water.
	We were sitting at our meager fire when he said, “You lied to me.” 
	I had lied to him. I told him he would be alright even though I knew he wouldn't. I admitted to my lie, and told him he would die quicker if he didn't have hope.
	His eyes were practically colorless. Grey depression filled what had once been blue and playful. “I know,” He said in a tired whisper. “Thanks, Knox.”
	I traveled with him across my shoulders until dark for the second day, and then it began to snow. We made camp, and Lorcan slept on and off in deadly silence. I had nightmares that night of millions of green, Roman arrows lining a path I had to follow. I dreamed of Q being eaten by scavengers of the forest. 
	On the third day Lorcan could not open his eyes; he was too weak. His skin was shade of green-gray. He couldn't move his lower body, and his speech was sloppy. I assumed he had hours left until cold, bitter death would claim him. The snow was thick and icy by then. I ran with him as fast as I could. Soon I stopped feeling his uneven rise and fall of breath on my back. 
	“Lorcan.” I called.
	He answered with a noise in his throat.
	“Sing. Hum with me, kid. You have to sing now. We're battling.” He had to be thinking, doing something or his body would shut down, and I was going to fight with him to the end. So, I sang the tune we were taught before we could walk.
	
	Here they come, O here they come,
	Smoke a'flying,  Guns a'raised.
	Here they come, Here they come,
	To see the end of their days.
	Lorcan's hums were weak, but they were there. We sang for hours until night began to fall. We didn't stop, because there was no reason. We didn't need rest, if we didn't keeping going we would die. We had no food or water, and the snow piled down so thick if felt like weights. 
	So here we come, here we come,
	Because the Westerns will prevail
	Here we come, O here we come,
	My teammates, I'll not fail.
	When Lorcan stopped breathing I lied him in the snow. With the last bit energy I had, I screamed for help. 
	Sometimes we need help. I couldn't let him die and I couldn't keep him alive. I had never wanted help, but I needed it now. I realized that that was okay. He was everything I had left, and I fought for him. 
	I thought I saw a light ahead, but I needed rest. Had to sleep. I was suddenly very warm, and I lay next to Lorcan, who looked quite at peace, and watched the snow float down until my eyes closed and my heart slowed to a pace that I could hear in my ears.
	Thump thump... thump... thump thump...
~��~
	“Thank you,” I said when she handed me the warm drink.
	“Your friend should be okay. But nothing is for certain. You two were practically dead.” 
	“Yes, we were.” I took a sip of the drink. It was smooth and sweet and creamy. We had found the Free-Birds. Or rather, they had found us. The light I had seen was a lamp, carried by a man who had seen us in the snow. He, and several others brought us back to the Free-Birds, where they fed us with medicine and began treating Lorcan for infection and blood loss. The woman who sat across from me was kind, but cross-looking. Everyone called her “Elle.” 
	That is when the obvious hit me. “You're Q's mother.” I said.
	“You're Ekon Knox. The leader of Q's team.” She said, no emotion on her face. Surprise must have shown on mine because she then said, “She wrote to me two weeks ago.”
	A wave of remorse hit me, because for the first time today, I remembered Q was dead. 
	Elle looked at me then. She had black hair like Q, but her face was harsher and her eyes were dark. “How did she die?” 
	I didn't want to tell her. I didn't want to cause her more pain.
	“She said, in her letter, you were brave, handsome, and followed orders like a puppy.” Elle said. She shared the same passion in her eyes as Q had. “So I know you wouldn't have just let her die.”
	My eyes turned warm. I swallowed and said, “Green arrow to the chest by the Romans.” Elle stood and turned away from me. “Lorcan already had the wound. I couldn't carry them both, and she was already...” 
	Elle turned back to me. “I understand. Thank you.” Then, with more emotion, “I believe she thought very highly of you. I think very highly of you. As if you were my son. Would that be alright Ekon, for you to be my son?”
	I had never been anyone's son, but I knew this woman's heart ached, and I had no where else to go.
	“Before you answer, I would like you to know we are against your society of Authorities.”
	“I know. I am too.” I said, because in my heart I felt it.
	“Good, then my son, tomorrow we attack the closest Western compound.” Elle smiled. “For Q.”
	
	The corners of my mouth pulled up in a grin—the first one since we left Q. I had my new objective. It never was to retrieve the red flag after all. Fate had taken me on a journey to meet Arras, Lorcan and Q. I was never meant to live with the Westerns. Fate had brought me here, to the land where people lived that had no where else to go. I was among those who had been sent “away.”