Growth
Chapter 1: The Escape

The forest was thick but Clare rushed through it regardless. Twigs and branches battered the young redhead in tattered, dirty rags as she panted through the flora, unfit for the exercise in which she was participating. An unexpected rock tripped her up and she went tumbling down a hill. The landing was ungraceful and painful but it was a shortcut to her destination: a road.

Clare looked both ways. The highway was beyond repair; cracked like shattered glass. Some of the tougher trees had grown straight up through the concrete of the road.

Unsure of which way to go, Clare headed left. She was barefoot and kept to the grass along the side of the road. She only had enough energy to jog, but she kept at it. Her sense of time faded away. There was just her and the road and the shining sun right above her head.

Then Clare heard a distant motor. She perked her head up and spotted two cargo trucks being led by a roofless Hummer. She ignored personal safety and walked right into the middle of the road. The caravan slowed to a stop before her.

Two men with bows stood up and notched arrows in the back seat. One kept Clare in his sights as the other scanned their surroundings. He finally gave an all clear and the large man in the passenger’s seat got out. Clare started to move toward him.

“Hold up!” the big man said.

Clare stopped but said, “Please, I need your help. I’m a slave but I escaped. You have to free my friends!” Clare was panting like a dog.

“A slave? Where’d you run here from?”

“From up there.” She pointed into the forest. “You have to help us. Please!”

“That direction? You must be one of Ryker’s slaves. How’d you get all the way out here?” The man started walking toward Clare.

Clare’s eyes widened. “You know him?”

“Don’t worry, little missy. I’ll get you back home safe.” He stood over Clare and laughed.

Clare was locked in the back of one of the cargo trucks, the one with fresh slaves for the mines, and driven right back from whence she came. The purpose of the caravan was to deliver new slaves and supplies to the mine. When she was unloaded with the rest, Ryker, the big man in charge despite being short, bald, and smelly, greeted her with a malicious smile. “Yet another attempt gone bad. When will you learn your lesson?” he had said before he had her flogged and sent back to work.

The main cavern of the mine was remarkable. It was about the size and width of a football field, and perhaps fifty yards in height, and it grew in size from the work every day. There was no need for torches or artificial lighting, for everything was lit well enough by the light emanating from the majestic blue crystals that the slaves were chipping out of the rock. The chunks were tossed into carts that were pushed outside where they would be cleaned and polished.

Clare was almost certain that she would not be allowed outside for cleaning duty anymore. She now had a pickaxe and brooded as she worked, trying to ignore the big brute foreman that taunted her relentlessly the duration of that day.

She was not taken to her cell after work like the others. Clare was instead taken to Ryker. Ryker stayed outside of the cavern with his taskmasters and other goons in a large, comfortable cabin. Ryker’s room was the only one on the second floor. He even had his own balcony with a view of the mouth of the cavern so that he could survey all that was below him. Clare was taken to the balcony.

Ryker was in his rocking chair that creaked extra loud under his weight. He stared Clare down as she was dragged to his feet between two henchmen. They shoved her down to her knees and held her in place.

“You finally did it, Clare.” He raised his hands and outstretched his fingers. “I need more fingers if I want to count your escape attempts now.”

Clare glared up at Ryker. Ryker remained emotionless.

“You have such a pretty face. You don’t know how lucky you are that I haven’t already thrown you to the wolves, and I’m not talking about the big ones out there that I have to scare off every other night.” The henchmen got the joke and chuckled. “But there’s a problem, you see. It costs time and money when you keep running off the way you do.”

Then Ryker revealed a knife with a black blade. Clare found herself in awe of it.

“Pretty, ain’t it? It’s obsidian, sharp and hard to replace these days. Hold her steady, boys.” His men held Clare tight as Ryker grabbed her hand and forced her index finger out. She fought, but the men her held firm. “You’ll work a bit slower for a week or two, but it’ll heal. It’s just a finger.” He put the blade to Clare’s skin but a sudden howl filled everyone’s ears. Ryker jerked the knife back from Clare’s hand and sat up straight in his seat as alert as a meerkat.

“Get her out of here,” he ordered, “and replace out why the fuck that was so goddam close by!”

The henchmen wasted no time in following orders. Clare was back in her cell in the back of the cavern before she knew it, crammed up against three other slaves in a cage that could barely fit two. Clare drifted in and out of sleep with one hand clutching the other all night.

Ryker must have forgotten about Clare overnight because it was work as usual the next morning. Clare was hammering away in the back of the cavern. Between strikes she wiped her brow and turned to face the entrance of the cavern. Among the countless twinkling crystals surrounding her, the distant glimmer of freedom peering in through that tiny tunnel was the only treasure she cared about.

“Oy, back to work,” a passing henchman shouted at her. Clare frowned and brought her pickaxe down upon a crack in the wall. The pick widened the crack, which widened even more when she pulled the pickaxe out. The crack then stretched upwards when Clare raised the axe for another strike, but she set it down when the crack grew to double her height.

“I thought I told you to get back to work!”

Clare hesitated but struck again. Then she smiled and picked up the pace. The crack rose and rose and splintered off in every direction.

The henchman caught on. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop that! Right now!”

He ran at Clare but it was too late. The wall of the cavern started to collapse. Clare then threw her pickaxe at the approaching man, catching him in the leg and causing him to fall over. While he was down, Clare stepped on his head and ran to safety, yelling at other slaves to flee even though everyone could already hear the clamor of the wall collapse.

The collapse was not all that massive but it crushed the henchman and brought everyone inside to see the damage. Ryker had come inside as well. Clare slipped along the cavern wall and hid behind carts of crystals and boulders until she was sure that she would completely avoid detection and then crept right on into the tunnel. When she reached the entrance tunnel, she found a guard. Fortunately for her, he was facing outward. Clare used the oldest trick in the book by tapping his right shoulder and running away to the left when the guard looked aside. Success.

Clare was tempted to run away through the woods again but instead ran into the cabin. She went straight upstairs to Ryker’s room. She turned the place inside out until she found what she was looking for: the obsidian dagger. She examined it thoroughly, noting the leather handle and its rough texture. There was something very primal about it, like it was something a caveman would fancy. Clare found its sheath and a strap to keep it around her waist before making her getaway.

And now to the forest. Clare sped through the forest to the road again, for it was the only way she knew. As she came to the forest’s edge, she nearly crashed into a large bearded man that was walking alongside the road. He was wearing worn, black leather armor. The backpack he was carrying had a machete strapped to it. However, she grew frightened when she saw his eyes. The irises of his eyes were a bright gold, like that of an animal.”

Against her better judgement and ignoring the failed results of her many previous escape attempts, she straightened up and approached the stranger.

“Sir, I need your help! Please! There’s a man keeping slaves in the forest.”

The man narrowed his eyes and responded in a deep voice. “I’ve been looking for a slave owner. Is Ryker your master?”

“He is.” She recalled her previous escape attempt, and grew worried, since this man knew Ryker as well.

“Show me the way,” the man said. He unsheathed his machete and gave it a twirl.

“Please don’t hurt me! I’ll take you there.”

“I’m not here for you. I’m here for Ryker.”

Clare’s heart jumped for joy. Finally! She excitedly turned and led the stranger back up through the forest to the cavern. Clare stopped them at the tree line and gave the stranger the lay of the land.

“Thank you,” he said afterwards. “Now I think it’s best you stay here until it’s over.” He set his backpack on the ground and began to move out of cover.

“Wait. What’s your name?”

“Calvin.” He neglected to ask Clare’s and proceeded with his mission. As Clare watched him go, she decided that she wanted to see what this stranger’s plan had been. She gave him a minute before moving forward herself. She reached the cabin and peered around its side. Everyone was still inside the cavern. Calvin had evidently reached it already because she spotted the guard, whose head had been cut off.

In the tunnel, Clare could hear sounds of yelling and combat. She ran to see what was happening.

Calvin was surrounded, but that did not seem to be a problem. Ryker’s henchmen were big, tough, and primarily armed with clubs. Calvin’s machete chopped right through man and weapon alike. Clare was in awe; his skill was masterful.

There was movement in Clare’s peripheral vision. She spotted Ryker behind a boulder, watching the battle. It looked as though he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Calvin looked far too preoccupied with the big men around him to notice the creeper behind the rock.

Clare would not let Ryker have his chance. She sprinted forward just as Ryker broke cover to strike Calvin, whose back had inevitably turned away during the battle. Ryker’s success was practically assured until…

“Ryker!” Clare roared.

Ryker turned as Clare slipped the obsidian dagger from its sheath and shoved it into Ryker’s throat. Ryker stood in place with a final stunned look at Clare, made a gurgling noise, and then collapsed. Silence. The entire room had seen what transpired. The few surviving henchmen stood motionless. One by one they dropped their weapons.

Clare wiped her dagger off on Ryker’s clothes before looking to Calvin. “Thanks for the opening,” she said. She sheathed the dagger and made for the exit. The surrounding slaves dropped their tools and followed her out. Clare led the way to the cabin outside and promptly began to loot it. The slaves followed suit.

Everyone stayed downstairs but Clare made for the second floor to have a go at Ryker’s personal belongings. She overturned the room, cut open pillows, and tapped on every wall and floorboard until she discovered a hollow alcove under the bed. Clare popped up a loose floorboard and set a little box on the bed just as Calvin walked in.

Clare jumped in surprise and pulled the box close to her chest.

“I wanted to thank you before I left,” Calvin said. “That man was far sneakier than I anticipated.”

“Don’t mention it. It was a pleasure. And like I said before, thank you for the opening.” She smiled. “I wasn’t sure when I’d get a chance like that. I always knew I’d get him, I just didn’t know when.”

“What will you do now?”

“I don’t know.” She opened the box. There was a sizeable wad of cash within that Clare tossed onto the bed, followed by paperwork and notebooks. “I just wanted to kill him. I don’t have any other plan.” She flipped the box upside down and let various knick-knacks spread onto the bed. “I might just stay here.”

“There’s nothing else you’ve ever aspired to do?”

Clare shrugged. “Just revenge for a lifetime of abuse. It actually feels pretty good. The others said it would be empty, but they were wrong about that.” She went to the closet, found a backpack, and started shoving the money inside.

“How about a job?”

“I don’t know how to do anything except swing a pickaxe.”

“Exactly how long have you been in that mine?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. Just since I was little, I guess.”

“Ever heard of the Protectors?”

“No, but I’m assuming you are one.”

“I am. You could be one too.”

“What do Protectors do?” Clare set the backpack aside, and sat on the bed.

“The world is a shitty place. There are no laws or rules and safety is a luxury. Protectors try to help, if only a little bit, one deed at a time.” Calvin pointed outside. “I was sent here to kill Ryker and put an end to his slave operation. Seeing as how you did that for me, I’d say you’re qualified for my line of work.”

“Would I get to help slaves?”

“Yes. And more.”

“I’ll do it.”

Calvin smiled. “Good. But you won’t get far in those rags. There’s a Refuge close by where we can outfit you, if you don’t mind spending a little of that loot.”

“Not at all.”