• CHAPTER TWO
    LOSING THINGS
    January 29th, 2060

    We had been laying low for two days before my brother told me about what he had forgotten when we were leaving the small hide out. “Matt, I need to tell you something. I think I left something at the room.” He was visibly uncomfortable.
    “What? But if they find out anything about us they could…”
    “I know. I’m so sorry. I don’t think they’ll find out anything about us. Maybe just about Father. It was the photo album.” He hung his head. I tried not to get angry, but it was the only thing we had left of our parents, and he had lost it. No doubt whoever had searched the old room had taken it. There was no chance of us getting it back.
    “I’m sorry, Matt.” he said, and made to turn away.
    “Wait. If we act fast, we can get it back. Come on.” I had a plan.
    “Where are we going?” he said, catching up.
    “We’re going back to the hide out.”

    * * *


    My heartbeat skyrocketed as we drew nearer to the guards, keeping a lookout on the south side of the Detention Centre. The plan seemed foolproof, but there was always a chance I had overlooked some small detail.
    As we got closer, standing not 20 feet away from the enemy, Philip pointed deliberately at the guard to the left. I nodded, and aimed my steps towards the guard that was standing slightly off to the right.
    When I was stood directly behind the guard, I turned to my brother and grabbed his hand, turning his fingers into his palm, then when he had three fingers left, he held his hand up inches from his and counted down the remaining three seconds with his own fingers.
    Moving almost in sync with my brother , I grabbed the guard from behind and clamped my hand over his mouth, to stop him from shouting out and drawing more guards to the scene. I jerked the guard’s head violently to the right, and as his struggling stopped, lowered his body to the ground. There was a flurry of movement to my left, then it too stopped. “You okay?” I asked my brother.
    After taking out two more guards, we made our way to the back of the building, where the prisoners were kept. The first thing President Hoodling had done, after building the wall, had been to completely change the justice system. Judges no longer existed. Fair trials no longer existed. A special police force was created, with the power to arrest people without any particular reason, and each member acted as judge, jury and executioner. Men and women were arrested and given death sentences on the spot. Children were dragged from their parents arms as punishment. The new police force was ruthless, powerful and answerable to nobody but President Hoodling.
    Anyone found breaking the new laws was taken to a Detention Centre like this one, where they were condemned to be starved, tortured, or beaten to death. Escaping was almost impossible without outside help, which few, if any, were willing to give, for fear of being caught and killed, an all too likely outcome. It was into this hellhole that Philip and I were going.
    “You keep watch while I break the lock.” Philip whispered, pointing to a dark door set back into the wall. A large sign was nailed to it. ‘Control Room’. This was where all files, concerning everything to do with every criminal that had passed through this place. This was where the first fire would be set.
    The second room proved to much easier to enter than the first one. Almost every guard was frantically trying to put out the inferno that had consumed the Control Room, and the door to the Evidence Room had been left open. We crept inside, and immediately started searching the shelves for the things we had left behind, most importantly of which was the photo album. The shelves were surprisingly bare considering all the people who had been arrested since the Detention Centre was built. I voiced my surprise to Philip, and he replied “Hoodling has never been too concerned about having proof of all the so-called crimes people commit, so I’m not that surprised.” I considered this, and as I did, a terrible thought hit me.
    “What if they haven’t kept any of our things?” Philip didn’t answer, but continued to search the room.
    After half an hour of frantic searching, it became apparent that our things were not in the room. “Damn!” Philip cursed under his breath, kicking a box in his frustration. “They’re probably still at the old hiding place.” I agreed with him, but was reluctant to admit defeat. Instead, I simply pulled the second bottle of gasoline from my pack, and proceeded to douse the contents of the room in the thick liquid. Philip pulled out his bottle, and soon we were stood in the doorway, ready to complete the plan and leave. Philip struck a match on the stone wall, and threw it to the back of the room. Flames erupted and ran across every surface, billowing out across the room. Turning on our heels, we ran from the scene, eager to be away from the fire.
    It took us a full hour to retrace our steps back through the city to the headquarters, and by time we were there, the first rays of dawn were lighting the sky. The city did not share in this light, and it would be another half hour before the sun cleared the wall.
    Philip and I had not spoken since our realisation that the last remnants of our parents were in the hands of the enemy, and we would never be able to get them back. I slowed to a stop, and Philip followed my lead. He had looked miserable the whole of the way back. I put my hand on his shoulder. “Philip, you shouldn’t blame yourself for leaving the album. It was a mistake. Nobody blames you.” Philip continued to stare intently at his shoes.
    “I’m going to stay out here for a while, clear my head.” He mumbled.
    “Okay. Be careful.” I said, leaving him in the alley and making my way towards the grate in the wall.

    * * *


    “Mr President, we just received some information that might interest you.” said the small, thin man stood in the corner of the room. He was President Hoodling’s new assistant, the previous one had been fired following the escape of Matthew and Philip Darent.
    “What is it?” asked the President, gruffly.
    “Two men were seen fleeing the Detention Centre. They fit the description of the two Darent brothers. An officer managed to tail them, but lost one of them. The other is currently heading towards the northern sector of the city. We think he may be trying to get back to the building we, erm, lost them in, sir.”
    “Capture him. Then bring him to me.”

    * * *


    The wispy remnants of my dreams disappeared abruptly, and I woke with a start to see a member of The People’s Resistance standing over me. “What?” I asked, somewhat angrily. I had been sleeping well.
    “It’s Philip, sir. He’s been captured! He’s to be executed in a public ceremony later today. The whole city is being forced to go.” I quickly swung my legs off the bed, straight into my boots. Standing up, I quickly grabbed my coat and rifle, which I slung across my back, and ran from the building.
    As I rushed up the seemingly endless staircase, horrible thoughts swam in my head. How could I have been so stupid to let him stay in the city? I would never forgive myself if... I shook my head, attempting to rid myself of such thoughts.
    When I finally made it to the top of the building overlooking the main square, I could see that all the nearby rooftops were swarming with police, all with rifles in their hands, scanning the crowds below. I silently crept across the roof, till I was kneeled at the very edge, looking down at the square below. Temporary barricades and chain-link fences kept the masses of people trapped in the huge square, and armed guards patrolled the perimeter. A wooden stage had been set up at on end, a solitary chair the only thing it. The huge clock the hung over the square showed one minute to three. I gasped for breath, adrenaline coursing through my body. My eyes were glued to the stage, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. The clock struck three, and still nothing had happened. Then I heard a man’s shouts cut through the silence, and recognised Philip’s voice, though I couldn’t make out what he was saying. A hooded man was dragged, struggling, onto the stage and chained to the chair. The man who had brought him on left, and Philip was left alone. A man ran from the crowd, trying to escape the horrible scene he was being forced to witness. A shot rang out, and the man dropped, like a marionette with its strings cut. My blood boiled. I took a calming breath. I needed to have a clear head if I was going to make the shot. Still no target presented itself on stage. I needed to wait till last minute if I was going to keep my brother, otherwise my position would be given away too soon. I noticed the concealed members of The People’s Resistance, exactly where I had ordered them to be. I was going to take out the executioner when he appeared on stage, and at that exact moment my men would let off smoke bombs. In the confusion, one of my men would get on stage and help Philip away from the scene discreetly. But the plan could not be put into place until the executioner appeared. I waited, sweat dripping down my forehead into my eyes. I hastily rubbed my head with a sleeve. The minute hand on the clock was nearly at two minutes past three. Where was the executioner? What was going on. There was a loud crack from the nearest rooftop to my left, and Philip jerked in his chair, blood spraying across the stage. My heart stopped. I couldn’t think. Philip was slumped forward in his chair, no longer struggling against his bonds. I lifted my rifle, rage blurring my vision. I squeezed the trigger, and the bullet went whizzing towards its target. A millisecond later, it drilled through the head of the man who had killed my brother.