Page 78 of Vistaria Has Fallen
“Let’s hope it’s enough.” She patted his cheek. “Because right now, I’m terrified.”
“Running helps,” he said, without a glimmer of a smile. He nodded towards the door. “Go.”
Calli left, shutting the door quietly so no one in the building would be wakened. She ducked in between the walls into the narrow alley made of stairs—a shortcut for pedestrians. The stairs plunged straight downthe hill instead of following the painful hair-pin bends of the road. Her heart raced and her legs trembled—she was afraid of what she must do now. After a few minutes of climbing, the trembling in her legs disappeared as the muscles warmed up. Yet her heart continued to flutter.
When she reached the flatter street at the bottom of the hill she looked to the left—north—where the heart of thecity lay. The main street that connected with the Avenue of Nations was a hundred yards away. The street was deserted, dusty.
Running helps, Joshua had said.
She broke into a slow jog, heading for the city, her backpack bouncing against her back, the fresh morning air bathing her face. After a few minutes her fear evaporated and the unsteady beat of her heart settled into a strong rhythm inresponse to her body’s need for oxygen. Josh had been right.
The jogging ate up the distance. Soon she had reached the densely populated inner city core. Many more people appeared, gathering in small groups and whispering together. She dropped to a swift walk, not willing to draw attention to herself. Ahead she could see the big main square, the same square she had been watching those long hourswhen she had waited in the cell. Now she knew the square was the center of the city and the Avenue of Nations ran off the square, heading west towards the mountains.
She turned into the wide road and hurried along the sidewalk, keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding people. She looked ahead to see how many people lingered about the fountain. She could not see it yet.
There were more peopleon the Avenue, although they were not threatening. Perhaps the outbreak of rebellion in the north had stolen the rioters’ thunder and they had given up. The small hope buoyed her as she climbed the short slope to the top of the Avenue and saw for the first time the fountain there. If any rioters remained, they would surely be in front of the gates.
There were people sleeping there. They lay onthe concrete about the base of the fountain, their belongings beside them. They were homeless, perhaps refugees from Pascuallita or the new little township that had sprung up around the Garrido mine. The government had not had time to organize refugee camps yet.
It occurred to her that these people were as scared about the outbreak of war in the north as she and Minnie had been, sitting on thesofa together last night, whispering their speculations to each other.
The sleepers hadn’t spilled out onto the road, so Calli stepped onto the tarmac and headed straight for the gate. She wondered if she would draw attention, although there was no other way to reach the gates without stepping over bodies and pushing through groups. She would most certainly be recognized if she did that.
Theroad ran straight to the entrance. Calli moved around the last of the sleeping people and up to the closed gates. She gripped the iron bars with a small sense of relief. Soldiers stood at parade rest behind the gates. There were five guards, each with machine guns still hanging at their sides. She peered at them through the ironwork, hoping she might recognize one of them. They were all strangers.
She recalled the Spanish phrases she had been rehearsing and called to them, her voice low. “Soldiers. Do you know Captain Peña?”
Not a flicker of reaction. They didn’t know her. She dredged up more shaky Spanish. “He is based in Pascuallita. Do you know Duardo Peña?”
The second man on the left slid his gaze sideways, to look at her. He didn’t move his head.
Encouraged, she moved along thegate to stand in front of him.
“I must speak to your captain. Please let me in.”
She heard a babble of Spanish behind her. Close behind. She looked behind her, hiding as much of her features as she could with her shoulder. Two men, unshaved, dirty, bleary-eyed, watched her.
She turned back to the fence, shook it and jerked her head toward the men behind her.
“She is not Vistarian!”came thecry from behind her, in Spanish. She had been spotted as a foreigner.
She looked at the soldier in front of her. “Do you know the Red Leopard?”There was no time to compose it in Spanish. The name would have to be enough. “El Leopardo Rojo,” she added urgently.
A hand came down on her shoulder and yanked, trying to turn her. She clung to the iron with a desperate grip. “I amla dama fuerte!Let me in. Please, you must let me in.”She had reached the limits of her weak Spanish.
“You, American!” The angry cry came from behind her. Another hand grabbed her arm. She couldn’t risk looking behind her and letting them see her features. She couldn’t let go of the fence, or they would pull her into the middle of the crowd her gut told her was forming behind her.
There were more mutters andmurmurs around her. She kept her gaze locked on the soldier’s eyes, even as her grip on the fence weakened and her fingers uncurled.
Someone knocked the hat off her head and her blonde hair was revealed.
“Ella no es Vistariana! Ella no es Vistariana!”The angry cry echoed along the street. Taken up by one, then another, then another, it became a chant, a rally cry.
Callie swallowed and herthroat clicked, completely dry. The fury in their chant...they were ready to boil over into violence.
The soldier next to the one she had been addressing took his machine gun in hand and cocked it. So did the other four soldiers, his action prompting them. The sound of cold metal slapping into place quelled the crowd around her, just as her strength failed and her fingers pulled away from thefence.
The hands on her shoulders and arms dropped away.
