Falling Sky by James Patrick Riser Page B

won’t we be noticed? Besides, how did you even get access to a car?”
    â€œYes, we might, but it’s a long distance to our destination by walking so we have to take a risk,” Wasley answered, glancing around. “And to answer your second question, don’t worry about it.” He smiled, grabbed Ian by the shoulder and forced him to walk a bit faster.
    â€œWhere are we going?” Ian asked between labored breaths. He stumbled over his own feet and Wasley helped him regain his balanced by pulling Ian up by the collar of his shirt.
    â€œSomewhere safe for the moment. We’ve got to formulate a plan.”
    â€œA plan? I want to go home.” Ian looked back toward the street leading to his house.
    â€œWe can’t, it’s too hot right now. We’ll discuss it when we get to our destination.” Wasley jerked Ian down an alleyway and they walked in silence. Every so often, Ian’s mouth would open and words would hang on the edges of his lips, but he took a deep breath and stayed his questions.

Chapter Twelve
    An old gray car waited next to the curb at the ally’s exit. When the pair approached, the car’s engine roared to life. Wasley quickly stepped up to the vehicle and opened the dented back door. Ian jumped in with his teacher and the car sped down the street before Wasley had a chance to completely close the door.
    â€œDon’t worry, we’ll be there quickly Michael,” the driver said as he glanced to the back seat.
    â€œGood. I’m sure you remember Ian.” Wasley stuffed his back pack on the floor in between his feet and searched for the seat belt.
    The driver looked back again and Ian recognized the black beret and bracelets.
    â€œProphet?” he blurted out sourly.
    â€œHey, Ian, sorry about all of this,” Prophet said with a smile in his voice.
    â€œDid you know this was going to happen?” Ian asked as he maneuvered his body, in the small back seat, to a more comfortable position.
    â€œYes and no,” Wasley answered. “We knew that we were on their radar, but didn’t know how they’d proceed. I’m guessing they captured you because you’re young and they thought you would sell us out.”
    â€œUs?” Ian spat. “They thought I was a part of your group. Who exactly are you guys anyway?”
    â€œI said that I’d explain everything once -”
    Ian cut Wasley off, “-we reach our destination. I know.” He folded his arms across his chest and watched the streets stream by through the scuffed window.
    * * * *
    Ian, Wasley and Prophet entered a small, dimly lit room at the bottom of a creaky stair case. A dirty yellow light from a single hanging bulb coated a single round, wooden table and a collection of chairs.
    â€œMichael? Prophet?” A voice called out from dark hallway opposite of the room’s entrance.
    â€œYeah, it’s us. We brought him,” Wasley called back and pulled out a chair for Ian to sit.
    â€œI’m not used to hearing your first name,” Ian remarked as he plopped himself down on the chair and won a muffled scream from the aged wood.
    Wasley nodded and sat next to him. “Yeah, I know.” He smiled and rested his arms on the table. “I made all of this furniture. It’s modeled after things I had in my home on the surface before the war.”
    Ian ran an open hand over the table’s rough surface. “It looks nice.” He looked up into his professor’s face and studied the deep lines. He hadn’t noticed them before, as if the man had aged a few years in only hours. Wasley sighed and let the smile fall from his face. The expression had held up the bags under his eyes for they suddenly drooped, as did his cheeks. The dim light wasn’t kind to his features.
    â€œWho’s this kid?” A female figure materialized from the shadows of the hallway. She leaned against the door frame, ran a hand through