Reduced to Dust

By Gabrielle Arrowsmith

The commander devastated the town of refugees and, to wound Sydney more deeply, seized her family. Crewe promised to help her rescue them, but paralyzing grief over his own loss has made him unreachable. With the other seeksmen feeling equally defeated—and the traitor still among them—Sydney is more alone in this fight than ever, but she will not give up. With relentless determination, she vows to do everything in her power to get her loved ones back.
Sydney's chances for success are threatened as plans backfire and unforeseen obstacles arise. When her true tie to the commander is revealed, she loses the trust of the few allies she has left. The situation grows even graver when a terrible epidemic advances, and the responsibility to decide who will have a shot at surviving is placed in her uncertain hands.
The suffering has to end, and only Sydney has the unique knowledge and connections to bring down the cruel leaders of the oppressive system. The time has come for the battle of her life—one that will claim many. Even if she survives, will her heart endure the choices she will be forced to make?

• Language: English
• Publisher: CTP Publishing
• Release date: Dec 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781634221597

Gabrielle Arrowsmith

Gabrielle Arrowsmith was born to her loving parents on August 16th, 1988. She grew up in the small town of Ham Lake, MN enjoying soccer, school, and adventuresome play with her brother and cousins.As she grew older, her desire to write led her to fill many diaries and notebooks with her thoughts, poems, stories, and scripts. Her other childhood hobbies included reading, playing soccer, acting, and playing piano.Gabrielle recalls high school as the time when she first believed in the worth of her writing. Her AP Language and Literature course both challenged and celebrated her craft. She aimed for perfection in this course, but only so much as to allow time for her other college-level courses, soccer, track, NHS, and school plays. She graduated in 2006, earning Advanced Placement Scholar with Distinction recognition and the Triple A Award for outstanding performance in academics, athletics, and arts.In 2009, Gabrielle graduated summa cum laude from the College of St. Scholastica in Duluth, MN where she earned a degree in Elementary Education. She played collegiate soccer for the Saints, held work-study positions, acted in theater productions, and volunteered often.Gabrielle is currently teaching and pursuing her passion for storytelling through writing and acting. She enjoys reading, playing and coaching soccer, and spending time with family, friends, and her adorable pets!

Book preview

Chapter One

Too little time has passed since I last stood on this sullen ground. Yet, a lifetime wouldn’t make grief this bottomless any more bearable for the people gathered here. Agents of Miles County set fire to the homes of Sheridan’s innocent citizens just as ruthlessly as they ignited the gas tank of the motorcycle on which Cy and Decklin took their last stand as seeksmen.

With her head held high, Alix approaches the twin clay urns that share the remains of Lysia, her eight-year-old daughter. Gwen, Lysia’s adoptive mother, joins Alix in front of the assembly. Though the mothers are both dressed in prim black dresses, there is a sharp contrast between the two. Even from the distance I stand from Gwen, I can see that her eyelids are pink and swollen, her lips and face are drained of color, and her breaths are uneven. She appears unraveled by despair, while Alix is a pillar of strength and composure.

Alix clasps Gwen’s hand firmly, resting her other hand on one of the urns. When Gwen touches the remains of the daughter she raised, she lowers her head, maybe in prayer, or maybe to hide her grief from those watching and waiting for today’s last, and arguably most difficult, funeral to begin.

With a remarkably placid expression, Alix unfolds a piece of paper, the faint sound traveling across the heavy air. Thank you all for being here, she says woodenly. The female seeksman draws in a deep and burdened breath. Many of you know that the first fifteen years of my life were awful. Ironically, one horrible act produced the joy of my life—my daughter, Lysandria. Alix looks up from her paper, but her eyes are unfocused and float above the crowd.

Lysia’s conception was a miracle but, after learning my baby would be aborted, I resented that I’d ever become pregnant. I didn’t understand why I was given this miracle, and hope, until a powerful will to escape arose in me one day. Amazingly, I got out and, like a dream, the captain and Merick were there to rescue me. This time when Alix looks up from her paper, she looks directly at Merick and nods. She might make the same gesture to my father, who would be at my side had circumstance not forced him back inside with Evvie.

I was only a child when I had Lysia, and a broken one at that. Alix pauses, and I notice her speech shaking in her hand. "I wanted everything for her," she forces out, her composure fracturing for the first time. As if Gwen’s stability depends on Alix’s, she removes her hand from the urn it was resting on and covers her pained face, choking back sobs.

The admirable female seeksman steadies her voice to continue the eulogy. I knew that with Gwen, Lysia would have a better life than I could give her. Alix turns to address the woman at her side. I am eternally grateful for the love and the patience—which we all know you had a lot of— she jokes, raising chuckles, smiles, and nods from the gathering, that you showed her. You were the best mother, Gwen, and you raised a beautiful little girl who poked her way into the hearts of everyone here today. Thank you. Gwen opens her mouth as if to speak, but instead, she embraces Alix, letting go of some of her pain, evidenced by the wet spot on Alix’s blouse.

After clearing her tight throat, Alix continues. The captain said something at Cy’s funeral that came to mind as I was thinking about the effect Lysia had on the people of our town. Like Cy, she says, making quick eye contact with Crewe in the front row, there was no such thing as a stranger to Lysia. The young mother smirks. Now, for Lysia, that was due more to bold, childlike curiosity than kindness, but her way was still genuine, and it produced the same result. Lysia was all of your daughters, all of your friends, and all of your troubles.

Most of the crowd laughs or smiles, presumably from their own encounters with Lysia, but I find myself smirking instead as I remember Crewe and Cy’s comments about her as they drove Evvie and me to Sheridan. There was playful, brotherly banter in the front. My sister and I sat reunited with each other in the back, our hope revived. That car ride doesn’t seem real anymore, not with Cy dead, Evvie gone again, and the fresh mounds of dirt and memorial stands for which my Uncle Ted is responsible.

Alix wicks away tears from her cheeks. She was a good little girl with a free spirit who loved her mothers, her friends, and this town. Remember her, and please pray for us.

Together, the grieving mothers step around the decorative stand with the two urns that share the remains of their daughter. Merick and his wife, both wearing evidence of the burns they suffered from the fires, are the first to step toward the women and their daughter’s ashes. Crewe, Della, a few of Sheridan’s remaining seeksmen, and some townspeople, mostly women, also flock in that direction.

After having attended Cy’s funeral less than two weeks ago, I knew what the protocol would be after each of the burials that took place earlier this morning. I waited patiently, respectfully, for my turn to place a shovel of earth in each of the victims graves and, like I did at Cy’s service, to apologize as the dirt fell for starting all of this, which brought about their deaths.

Being that Lysia was cremated, there are no shovels passing, and so I’m not sure what to do next. For his sake and mine, I want to make my way toward the semi-circle of Lysia’s mourners and slide my hand into Crewe’s, my only link to this town with the captain forced away, but I deny myself this comfort. Alix has seen Crewe and me together before, but holding his hand in front of her as she grieves the loss of her daughter, who saw Crewe as a fatherly figure since they were together so long, feels inappropriate.

Clusters begin to form around the graves of the other two Sheridan citizens who were taken by fire in the wee hours of the morning, and the grave of a man who recently enlisted in the Sheridan militia, but died last night in the hospital from a gunshot wound. There is also an easel with the picture of a man whose body could not be recovered from the battlefield at EPA 12-1. Friends, family, and students gather to write their final message on the wide frame around the photograph of the town’s beloved middle and high school science teacher.

Of the five deceased who Sheridan memorialized this morning, Lysia is the only one I felt like I knew, but not on the same level as those who form a tight ring around her remains. I would seek companionship with Gauge, but it appears he and his family have chosen not come to the funerals this morning.

All I have now is Crewe. When the helicopter lifted my wounded father and dying sister away, he held my hand and told me all I needed to worry about was sticking by his side. Minutes later, he separated himself from me to attend to Alix and Gwen, as he is now.

There is nothing for me to do but head to the room above the restaurant on the other side of town, where the other seeksmen will meet, in time, to discuss our plan for appeasing Miles County.

Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I wait until I am out of the gatherers’ sight to break into a sprint. Run. I push myself as hard as I can because the distance isn’t so far, and beating the breath out of myself is the best way to relieve the troublesome thoughts of Evvie, my father, Edyn, Red, my evil uncle in Miles County, and all his victims from Sheridan, Idaho, Braves, and, as I’ve heard, some Neocropolis residents who were shot down while running for freedom.

Faster. Running could never cure the worry in my heart, but by focusing on the landmarks, which indicate the progress I’m making toward the restaurant on Main Street, and my breathing, the contemplations that plague my mind temporarily dissipate. In no time, I’m there.

A little bell attached to the restaurant entrance chimes as I open the door. Immediately after, I hear an unexpected clank of glass. Instinctually, I rip the door wide open before it has shut all the way and duck down outside the building. A moment later, I hear the bell again, and watch the door as it creeps open just a few inches. When the barrel of a gun pokes out, I turn my face away, but I don’t dare move from my position.

Who’s there? a young, threatening male asks.

Mustering some courage, I turn back to examine the barrel of the gun, and then the boot that holds the door partially open. Neither belongs to a BOT

Swallowing the ball of fire that had risen in my throat, I answer, It’s Sydney. Sydney Harter.

The brown boot kicks the door open as the gun simultaneously swings around to point right at me. I scamper to my feet and prepare to bolt, thinking I’ve been tricked into trusting the look of a seeksman.

Wait! It’s just me. It’s Jaxon, says the former Neocropolis resident whose strength and intelligence quickly moved him up the ranks in this new refugee militia.

Recognizing the voice, I face him. His rifle has been lowered to his hip and his command of it is relaxed. Why did you keep that thing pointed at me after I said it was me? I demand.

He swings the weapon behind his back now. You can’t be too careful, Sydney, especially with you. Jaxon opens the door, inviting me back in the restaurant. My hesitation earns me a grand eye roll from the soldier. How could I know whether you were really alone, or if someone was out there with you, forcing you to say your name? I keep my weapon drawn until I’m positive it doesn’t need to be. It’s that simple.

Jaxon thinks of everything. He wasn’t originally part of the escape plan designed by Edyn and Vic, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had devised one of his own and was waiting for an opportunity on his level of Neocropolis.

Tired of waiting for me to trust him, Jaxon walks inside, leaving me to catch the door before it closes.

What are you doing? I ask, though I can see that he’s putting the restaurant’s drinking glasses into old, decrepit boxes.

Nothing useful. Putting on a show for the county, right? His broad shoulders are tense, but he’s gentle with the glass, wrapping them with dishtowels and paper to keep them from breaking in the boxes.

Feeling pretty useless and misplaced myself, I join him in the menial task while we wait for the other appointed seeksmen to finish paying their respects and meet us here.

How old are you? I ask Jaxon.

Twenty-five, he answers, paying more attention to our task than the conversation.

Really? The word escapes me before I can catch it. Obviously, he’s told me his real age.

Surprised? he asks. His dark brown eyes meet mine for a moment, but they’re still disinterested.

I guess I thought you were a little older. You seem to have a handle on things, I explain.

Jaxon closes up a boxful of glasses and pushes it across the counter. He straightens, twisting his arms to crack his elbows, and then leans into his locked, muscular arms as they grip the edge of the countertop. Looking at me, he says, Wisdom doesn’t come from age—it comes from circumstance. I disregard the glasses and listen. Staring glossy-eyed at the tables in front of us, he continues, I spent my entire adulthood underground working my ass off and smiling when I wanted to kill someone so that I could move up to an even phonier life on One. All I had in Neocropolis was time—time to imagine certain situations and how I would react to them. Experiences like that mature a person. You know what I’m talking about.

Between my time in the orphanage, at our foster’s, and when I lived alone on a variance, I had a lot of time to practice suppressing my real emotions and to prepare myself for whatever was to come as well. In our own respects, Jaxon and I were each a lone soldier, preparing for the unpredictable.

You used your time well, I tell him. Complimenting others doesn’t come naturally to me, but he deserves it. I was glad you were my squadron leader the other night.

Well, Sydney, I was glad to share a boat with you too, Jaxon chuckles, but that had nothing to do with your leadership qualities. I’m not saying you don’t have any, he explains quickly as my lowered brows question him. You’re the commander’s niece, and, apparently, that means something to the twisted son of a bitch. I worried about crossing the barrier and all the rest, of course, but it was nice not having to worry all afternoon about being blown out of the water.

And yet, you did suffer all afternoon. My smirk doesn’t help him pick up on my meaning. Red.

Two days ago, Jaxon whined about having to listen to Red gab for hours. Had Red made it back with us, the new seeksman may have nodded or even laughed, but after the note that Commander Harter sent, the joke falls flat, and we both return to the packing of dishware.

After some time, I begin to notice townspeople out on Main Street. Most are no longer dressed in the dark, elegant clothes they wore to mourn the lost, but rather old, faded work clothes. The men and women, sometimes with little ones who would normally be in the daycare or kids who would otherwise be in school, despairingly enter the shops. For those who have been citizens of Sheridan the longest, their businesses—perhaps built from the ground up—have been their life’s work. Now they have to close the door on all they’ve ever known. Even from afar, I can see that they have no hope. They don’t believe this is temporary, only meant to convince Miles County that we’ve been successfully coerced into following the law that was laid over eighteen years ago.

My eyes are fixed on the laundromat across the way. Lysia won’t walk through those doors, and I don’t expect Gwen will either. Yet, I trust that the people of Sheridan will pitch in and get the loads cleaned, sorted, and returned to their rightful owners in no time.

They’re coming, Jaxon says, interrupting my trance on the laundromat door. I break it by stacking the last heavy, wooden chair on top of the bare tabletop.

Braves, our new captain, paces down Main Street, followed closely by Crewe, Adam, and Rico, who appear to be in a conversation that either excludes or disinterests him. Not far behind are Merick and Alix, both of their wounds—physical and emotional—evident in their demeanor. Merick’s burns, or his burdens, cause him to curl his shoulders in toward his chest. Alix has suffered something insurmountable, but her posture is rigid and she strides along.

Farther back, I see Tate from my squadron, Gauge’s squadron leader from Idaho, and two other men I recognize as soldiers, but whose names and places of origin I don’t know. Still no Gauge. Maybe it was decided that Tate, Jaxon, and I suffice as representatives of Neocropolis.

They’re in here, Braves says over his shoulder as he walks through the door. If Crewe and the men behind him were looking for Jaxon and me, it doesn’t show. His lack of concern stings a bit as he walks past me toward the stairs. I follow quickly behind, not so much to be close to him, but rather to avoid Alix and Merick. Alix’s bandaged arm reminds me of the fire that overcame Cy and her masked grief, the flames that killed innocent citizens. And when I look at Merick, all I see is the absence of my father.

All these acts of war lead back to one person and one flaw—me and my dissatisfaction in Miles County even after I’d been granted guardianship of Evvie. Granted, my distrust was warranted, but why did I have to breach the morning the seeksmen took me? Precious lives have been lost since that day and, though I know I’m not at fault, I can’t ignore my role in this mess. It began with me, and I have no idea how to stop it. I hope the others have realistic ideas. If not, the lives lost and the three weeks of struggle since the day I breached have been for nothing.

Chapter Two

In the upper room, some of the seeksmen continue their conversations from the street, while others trade and study each other’s notebooks or scraps of paper. Among the scratch work are lists of names—people who are willing to return to Miles County.

I didn’t gather a list. I don’t know many Sheridan citizens personally, and those that I do, like Della and Gwen, I would not want to leave. I’m not the only one without paper. Some of the others who are new residents of Sheridan, or who normally live in one of the other refugee towns, have not fulfilled this assignment either.

No Gauge? I ask Jaxon.

He shrugs. He’s seventeen.

What does that matter? He helped organize the escape from Neocropolis and created the explosive. He’s extremely mechanical. He should be here.

I don’t decide who gets to be here and who doesn’t, Jaxon reminds me.

Crewe is talking to Adam, but I have to interrupt him and advocate for my friend who I believe belongs among us. I cross the room, cutting into their conversation without niceties. Where’s Gauge?

Although the question is meant for Crewe, he doesn’t turn around to answer me. Adam raises his chin and says, He was sent to Idaho. Adam inhales to continue his discussion with Crewe, but I cut in again.

Why?

This time Crewe looks partially over his shoulder to answer me. To work on the plane they found. Merick sent the most qualified men to get it off the ground.

Who else? I ask, wondering if Gauge’s mother and sister traveled with him.

Adam sighs to make his irritation with me evident. One living seeksman from Idaho, the body of another, their tech, and their doctor.

Frustrated that Gauge was sent away without my knowledge and with a group of men that doesn’t include anyone I know, I walk away from Adam and Crewe.

With our lives constantly in jeopardy—inches from a pathogenic needle, sniper bullet, or floundering flame—I like to be given the opportunity to say a subtle goodbye. Evvie grew to hate this, but I’m sure she would have hated it more if something happened to me and I hadn’t written a letter, or given her a hug and an I love you that could never fully express how much she meant to me. She would have hated herself if I were one of the ones who didn’t return from the latest mission. She was so angry with me for leaving her.

Merick stands and clears his throat, causing everyone to settle in a chair. The desperate, calculating voices are hushed. Listen, Merick orders. Not to me, to that. Standing formally with his hands behind his back, he turns toward the window.

Their words are muffled, but Main Street is filled with the sounds of shop owners directing their helpers. Doors open and shut as furniture, product, and the like are carried out onto the sidewalk, where they will be in clear view for satellite imaging.

After eighteen and a half years, Sheridan is packing away its freedom. Merick turns back toward us. They don’t seem to trust in this plan, but all of you better believe that this is not surrender. The ten are a small sacrifice, and what’s going on outside is buying us the time we need to devise a plan where we can not only stand up to Commander Harter and the BOTs, but defeat them. That time is right now.

The pressure in the room rises.

Let’s knock this business of the ten out of the way, Braves suggests.

I’m number one on the list, Merick announces.

You can’t, Crewe objects. Anger and confusion wage war in his eyes.

I can, and I am, Merick responds.

I don’t like it, Merick, Braves says. They could—

I’m well aware of what they could do to me, Merick declares, preventing further protestation from Crewe, Braves, or anyone else. I’m not concerned about what they can do; I’m concerned about what I can do. I can lead and protect the other nine. I can find the captain, and if I can’t get him out myself, I can get his location and any other information I gather back to you. We have to look for the advantage in every situation.

What’s the advantage if they shoot you on the spot like they did my brother, Merick? Crewe asks, anger having overcome his shock about Merick’s decision.

I’ll still have led the others. Reassured them, Merick replies. Somberly, he looks around the room and addresses all of us. The cancer has taken over. Most of you know that I don’t have much time left. My family has accepted the way I’ve chosen to live out my final weeks. I would hope that you all, the soldiers I’ve been fighting alongside all this time, could respect my wishes too.

We hear you, Merick, Braves says, deciding as the new captain that, though difficult, Merick’s dying request will be honored. Braves writes on his paper. Let’s get to the other nine. From what I heard, there were plenty of volunteers.

Adam, Cheng’s seeking partner, leans forward to speak. It all depends on how we want to go about this. There are some who want to go to fight, some who hope to find family inside, and some who are sick and hope that they’ll be given more advanced medicine.

Do we know anything about what they plan to do with them? I ask, honestly thinking more about Evvie and my father than the ten. That could help us decide who to send.

Rico, Sheridan’s electronic technician and middleman in communications, chimes in. I tried to contact the county to find out, but I got no response. I’ve been following inside news to try to make my own conjectures, but the truth is, I don’t know what he’ll do with them.

He’ll. One man. Rico knows that it’s all up to my uncle, Commander Harter, who isn’t talking. If he plans for them to go into Neocropolis, he would tell us, as we aren’t anticipating anything more lenient. If he plans to execute the ten, he would lie so that we’d still send them. He doesn’t have a plan yet.

He’s waiting to see who we send, I decide at once. He didn’t respond because what will be done with the group depends on who we send.

Could be, Braves says. He runs his thumb against the grain of his overgrown facial hair a few times, and then smooths the area from his lip to his chin. Rico, send a correspondence stating that we want continual proof that each of our citizens are being treated the same or we will discontinue sending them, and will instead seek Miles residents more than ever before—even more than we did at Neo-Necropolis. I don’t care whether he confirms receipt of the message. If he can make ultimatums, so can we.

So who do we send? Jaxon asks.

We send people who have volunteered for a variety of reasons. That way, we can determine how separate situations will be addressed for, God forbid it, future groups. Braves looks to Merick for approval.

Merick nods. I qualify as militant, not sick. The veteran’s voice is low, gruff, and firm. I suggest we send no more than one other individual who volunteered out of a need to fight back. We don’t want the commander to see the group as a threat.

There’s a man from Neocropolis who escaped with my squadron, Crewe says, implying that this volunteer qualifies as a fighter. The guilt of running away from his duty to spread word inside must be getting to him. He also has some family on the inside.

I know who you’re talking about, and he’s a good choice, Jaxon confirms. He had a moment of weakness, but who hasn’t?

A few of the seeksmen nod. My own moment of weakness replays in my mind. I had a gun in my hand. I had friends who were counting on me to either back them up or, in Red’s case, to protect them. The opportunity to escape was ticking away. All of this, and still, I was frozen in fear. I couldn’t force myself from the illusory safety of the apartment on Level One.

Braves scratches a note on his paper, solidifying the man as the second member of the ten.

The woman whose husband was an agent above Neocropolis volunteered, Jaxon says. She wants to return with her youngest son in search of her other boy and her husband.

"You said her husband was an agent, Braves points out. You don’t think he made it?" he asks Jaxon.

Sydney would know better than I would, Jaxon says.

I was the one who stopped Gauge from shooting the agent. The lower half of his body was intact, but badly burned. The agent disabled the underground line so we could get his family out, so I know he lasted that long. If he died, it wasn’t from his injuries or angry Neocropolis escapees, I tell the others. But yes, they probably killed him for helping us.

As far as I know, Merick says, the only man they haven’t killed for treason is the captain. Technically, the title captain no longer refers to my father, but Merick doesn’t make the correction.

Adam leans back in his chair and shakes his head. I vote against this one, he says. The agent likely died to get his family out. Why this woman would even consider taking a four-year-old back into that mess is beyond me.

She’s a mother. The haziness that was in Alix’s eyes clears as she engages in the discussion for the first time. A mother whose child is missing.

I can understand why she would go, but why take the kid with her? Adam argues.

Anger boils inside Alix until it spills over. She stands emphatically and glowers at Adam. "Why would she trust one of us with the only family she has left when we failed her the last time? Why would she ever, ever leave her child’s side?"

Adam, along with the rest of the room, is silenced. Alix makes a valid point, but we all know the source of her passion. She’s buried in her own guilt for being away from her daughter when the fires were set.

Crewe stands and places his hand on Alix’s back, inviting her to sit back down. Watching the gesture, I can almost feel his gentle touch on my own back. After all, he calmed me the same way a few times.

Alix is right, I say. My voice comes out a bit hoarse, so I clear my throat. This point is important to me, and they need to know it. Yes, my main tie to this town is gone, but I became a member of Sheridan before I even knew my father existed here. I am a valuable member of this group, I remind myself. They need to know it.

More surely, I continue, Things were supposed to get better here, but they took everything from me when they took Evvie. Eventually, I went after her myself because I’d lost my patience and my trust that someone else could protect my sister.

Truthfully, I never was very patient or trusting in the first place, but I did make an effort to let the seeksmen fight to get her back. The way things are right now, the agent’s wife knows better than to think we would go after the lost. This mother will need to go—with or without our consent, I