World on Fire

River Farrow shook her head, sending the flakes of snow gathered in her near-black locks flying. The large layered jacket she’d tugged on before leaving her flat that evening, while fashionable, did little to shelter her from the stark chill in the air. She could see the fog of her breath on every quiet exhale.

Who designs a hood that doesn’t even cover your entire head? she thought to herself, flicking her fingers at the loose piece of fabric that rose a few inches above her shoulders, just barely covering the nape of her neck and the very back of her head.

Style wasn’t meant to be practical, she supposed.

River peered out from the dark corner of the alley she’d been hiding in for the last half hour, her dark eyes scanning the surrounding street to find it still void of life or movement. 

That wasn’t unusual for the middle of the night, even for the dark underbelly of the Morrell Court district. The residents in this seedy part of town, who often referred jokingly to the neighborhood as the Immoral Court, knew how to keep their activity quiet—hidden from the watchful eyes of the corrupt Crow Police who patrolled the streets at night, reporting directly to the high lords who ruled over the city.

Glancing down, River angled the brick of a phone in the pocket of her jacket—a burner she’d picked up to keep her communications untraceable—tapping a button to light up the screen.

Her best friend, Sarben Maxwell, was now officially thirty minutes late to meet her. 

River’s emotions thrashed between mild annoyance at being made to wait so long and concern that her friend had been held up by something sinister.

Sneaking out after curfew in the city of Alengard was practically a capital offense. At the very least, it meant spending the rest of the night in Oswald, the damp and crowded prison entombed beneath the city, a punishment River had no desire to experience…again.

Sarben couldn’t have been stupid enough to get caught though, could she?

River’s heart started to pound in her chest, her mind racing towards every worst case scenario. She leaned back more fully against the crumbling brick wall behind her, enshrouding every inch of herself in total darkness to avoid being seen. 

The one good thing about the seedy Immoral Court  was the lack of cameras.

Most of them had been purposely broken by the vicious criminals who called these rundown streets home. Much easier to avoid the Crow Police and the prying eyes of city officials without leaving a video trail. 

Even most of the street lamps in the area had long dimmed, leaving most of the side streets and alleys in near total darkness after hours.

River guessed the high lords of Alengard got tired of repairing them. Tired of expending precious resources on undeserving criminals.

Suddenly, the sound of quiet footsteps racing through the snow capped streets reached River’s ears and she shrank down as far as she could in the darkness, just as a tall, dark figure appeared in the opening of the alley.

“River?” the dark figure whispered into the alley, the high-pitched voice unmistakable even in a whisper. River’s entire body relaxed a fraction, clenched muscles finally releasing. 

“Back here,” River replied quietly and emerged from her crouch so part of her face was lit in the one working street lamp at the edge of the alley. In a few large strides, her best friend Sarben towered before her.

River and Sarben had been best friends for the past eleven years, since they’d been paired up for a reading assignment in Ms. Calcott’s third grade class. Three years before everything went to shit in Alengard. 

“Took you long enough,” River chided her friend, leaning over to pick up the large black duffel bag she’d brought along for the night’s mission. Her tone was just sharp enough to let Sarben know she was pissed about having to wait, but relief that her friend had mate it at all shined clearly in her eyes. 

Sarben rolled her eyes and tossed her long, chocolate brown ponytail back over her shoulder, eyeing up the duffel through the thick crystal lenses of her black-framed glasses. Sarben was one of the few females their age who somehow looked even more captivating in glasses.  “I got held up trying to leave my parents’ house. The place was crawling with Crows.”

Sarben’s parents lived in one of the nicer districts in Alengard. While they weren’t quite members of Alengard’s elite, they owned one of the few fine dining establishments the city had to offer, a place frequented by the high lords and their acquaintances. This privilege afforded them luxuries few others had access to, like a spacious home in a well-guarded neighborhood.

It was certainly more than River’s own mother had at her disposal, though she’d never in a million years let it sour her relationship with her best friend.

“Think you brought enough with you?” Sarben asked sarcastically as River struggled to lift the black duffel high enough to loop the straps over her shoulder. 

River scoffed and checked her burner phone again. They had just fifteen minutes to make it to their destination now. “Come on, we have to hurry if we want to make it.”

Sarben visibly winced, earning a pointed look from River. “Okay, don’t be mad but—” Sarben was cut off when another dark figure emerged at the end of the alleyway, this one significantly taller and broader than the outline Sarben had sketched mere moments before.

Instinctively, River crouched back into the shaded corner and threw the duffel bag behind her, adjusting her stance so she could either defend herself against the unidentified threat or run like hell past it.

But recognition bloomed as the dark figure stalked closer to the two girls in the alley and River immediately threw her hands up angrily, shooting daggers at Sarben. “You brought him?!”

“Don’t sound so happy to see me,” Elias sneered as he reached the girls, throwing an arm over Sarben’s shoulders. The nearly burnt-out street lamp flashed a beam of dim light on half of his face, making his angular features appear even sharper than normal.

“Play nice!” Sarben hissed at him, halfheartedly swatting his stomach with one of her manicured hands. “Both of you,” she added with a pointed glare in River’s direction.

Elias shrugged and threw his hands up in mock surrender, steeling his features into cool indifference. So, his usual face.

What Sarben saw in that alpha male jerk, River would never understand. 

River wasn’t blind—anyone could see Elias was handsome. His near-black hair was kept artfully shaggy, always styled to complement the sharp angles and smooth planes of his face. He worked out every day in the city’s most well-equipped gym, a right only reserved for Alengard’s elite, and it showed in the way his expensive clothes hugged the taut muscles beneath.

But he was an ass. At least in River’s opinion.

A rich ass, born into one of Alengard’s most powerful families. Not high lords themselves, but close enough to reap the benefits—and avoid the severity of life as a working class Alengardian. Or Pleb as the lords and ladies liked to call them, the word often hurled at the lower class like an insult.

River supposed she was caught somewhere in between the two warring classes after her parent’s divorce a few years back. Not quite as low as a Pleb, but far from a member of the elite. 

A girl without a place in society. It was probably what had pushed her to join The Cause.

A group she was now almost late to meet, thanks to Sarben and Elias’s fooling around.

River understood why Sarben was here. She did it for River. For their friends from school forced into labor camps because they weren’t considered pure enough by the high lords and their lap dogs. 

But Elias? What made a rich, snarky elitist swear allegiance to one of Alengard’s largest network of rebels? 

River didn’t have time to consider it—another glance at her burner told her they had only ten minutes left to get to the docks several blocks away. 

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” River said gruffly to her companions and trudged for the street intersecting the alleyway, careful to stick to the unlit sections of road to avoid detection.

The three of them stealthily made their way block by block, hiding in shadowy doorways of shuttered buildings that lined the way. A light dusting of snow covered the mostly untouched streets, quieting their footsteps as they pressed on at a healthy clip.

River and Sarben had been working with the rebels for three months now, Elias for even longer—it was how he and Sarben met, much to River’s chagrin—and they’d made the trek down to the Immoral Court’s docks dozens of times before. They knew all the darkest corners on the path and where each of the still-working cameras was pointed. Most importantly, tnew how to avoid being seen by the few Crows that still patrolled this seedy underside of the city.

Breathless from running nearly the entire way to avoid being late, River arrived at the edge of the marina known as The Waterworks with just two minutes to spare, Sarben and Elias close behind. 

River ducked down behind a crumbling rock wall, lifting her head up only long enough to take in their surroundings. 

This small marina used to be teeming with life every weekend—private boats and small commercial vessels tied off at every one of the slips, fishermen spinning tales about the day’s catch outside of the small shack that sold bait and light tackle. 

Now it went mostly unused. The high lords of Alengard reserved this space for overflow storage. Stuff that wasn’t important enough to keep under constant guard. 

River’s eyes scanned the dimly lit area closest to the water to find it nearly empty. One Crow officer who, from her vantage point, looked like he couldn’t be a day over twenty-two stood watch near the pier. 

Two more young officers sat idly inside the old bait shack, which had been converted into a makeshift guardhouse. River could make them out clearly through the side window, their faces well lit by the fluorescent lights the city officials must have installed after taking over the marina. 

A few young and likely untested officers? It was the perfect place for tonight’s drop. 

A small fishing boat from a free district in the north would arrive at the docks under cover of darkness to deliver a shipment of weapons and other vital resources to The Cause. 

The rendezvous had been painstakingly planned for months, The Cause and the northern sympathizers communicating in secret to identify the best date, time, and place for the drop.

“Three officers for this entire place? It’s like they’re asking for something to go down,” Sarben whispered to River’s right, face so close her breath tickled the side of River’s face. 

“Our services probably aren’t even necessary for this group of clowns,” Elias added from just behind Sarben, somehow managing to look down his nose at the officers without even being in their immediate presence. 

His ability to sneer truly was a gift. Or in River’s opinion, one of his worst qualities.

“Those three clowns are each strapped to the hilt with weapons and trained to radio in more experienced Crow officers at the smallest sign of trouble, even under duress,” River retorted matter-of-factly. “Without us, this mission would fail.”

Because River, Sarben, and Elias weren’t hiding out at the dilapidated docks to help The Cause accept the shipment. 

No, they were here to provide the distraction.

River’s burner phone buzzed in her pocket and she immediately reached for it to find a message from Gael, the leader of the squadron she, Sarben, and Elias reported to. 

One word was all it said: On.

Even though everyone in The Cause used burners, they still kept their messages short or encoded to keep out the prying eyes of the high lords and their lap dogs. 

“Time to move,” was all River said to her companions, her voice barely a whisper as she scoped out their planned path through the marina. 

All clear.

River, Sarben, and Elias moved as silently as night itself as they wound their way between outbuildings and construction equipment. It was a route they’d practiced at least five times leading up to this mission, so they knew the way by heart. 

From the nearly unguarded Waterworks, the three rebels made their way to Ocean Cove on the opposite side of the bay, a significantly larger marina where Alengard’s elite kept their priceless yachts. 

They knew the area would be well-guarded—they’d staked it out enough times to know all the officer outposts and guardhouses, as well as where the cameras were located. 

They also knew exactly where to hit it.

River gripped the strap of her duffel bag tighter against her body at the thought. Everything they’d need to get it done was in that bag. The Cause was counting on them—on her. 

She’d been the one to beg Gael for this chance. It was on her shoulders if they failed.

And if they were caught? River shuddered at the thought of what might happen to her friends. To her. 

They couldn’t fail.

Faster than any of the times they’d practiced, River, Sarben, and Elias arrived at the edge of Ocean Cove. The gate that separated the old walking trail between this marina and The Waterworks was left unlocked, just like they’d been told.

The Cause really did have agents in high places, River mused to herself.

With the care and precision of a surgeon, Elias lifted the gate’s chain out of its slot, going slowly to avoid being heard. When the chain was all the way through, he oh-so-carefully opened the gate, creating a gap just wide enough for the three of them to slip through. 

Unlike the dilapidated marina they’d just come from, the one they now stepped into was well-lit and guarded to the teeth. 

“Crows are in their usual spots,” Elias mused quietly from behind River as the three rebels sank down to hide in the tall marsh grasses that separated the old walking trail from the piers. “Two at the entrance, at least four I can see in the guardhouse. Another three walking the piers.”

River hated that he was actually useful for this kind of mission. The guy had eyes like a hawk and moved as quiet as a shadow. 

“No high lords, at least,” Sarben added in a whisper, her eyes also scanning their surroundings.

From her hidden position in the grasses, River unzipped the duffel cradled between their three prone bodies to reveal everything she’d secured for their task. 

“Nice,” Elias let out a low whistle, his eyes scanning the contents of the bag: bottles of lighter fuel stacked haphazardly on top of one another, scraps of old shirts ripped to form rags intertwined between them. 

The final tool in their kit—a small cigarette lighter picked up months ago at a Gas ‘N Sip on the outskirts of Alengard—was tucked safely inside River’s coat, in a hidden pocket directly over her heart.

“I’m surprised you were okay with this plan, Elias,” River muttered to him as she combed through the contents, pulling each item out and to line it up before her in the tall grass. “Doesn’t your family own like, three yachts in this marina?”

Elias’s eyes cast out over the rows and rows of slips briefly, confirming something, before he smirked back at River. His nimble fingers reached out to help her uncap the bottles of lighter fluid and start soaking the torn rags in it as he said,  “I made sure they were all pulled from the water for maintenance before tonight. Arielle, Celene, and The Queen of Sirens are all safely tucked away in a boat garage miles from here.” He held his hands up to make finger quotes on the word maintenance.

Of course he’d ensured his own family would suffer no damage tonight.

“Any word yet from Gael?” Sarben asked to break up the tension. While River and Elias got their supplies ready for the job, she’d sat sentry on lookout duty. 

Her eyes repeatedly darted between their location, the locations of the seven visible Crow officers standing watch, and their target: an old, leaky fuel pump poised on the edge of the pier closest to them. The pump was a convenient way for the yacht crews to gas up boats before and after trips. Ocean Cove had three others mingled in with the slips, and this particular pump was one of the least utilized—and in the worst repair.

A sitting duck for their mission.

From their daytime stakeouts, Sarben and River knew this one dripped fuel like a faucet, littering the ground around it and spreading gas fumes into the surrounding air. 

Setting the pump itself ablaze would be an easy task they could do from yards away, causing large enough of an explosion to draw a crowd—and keep them away from the drop happening back at The Waterworks.

Just as River was about to respond, “Not yet—” she was cut off by the sound of heavy footfalls coming from a distance behind them. 

“What the hell?” the gravelly voice of a Crow officer asked, one they must’ve missed in their initial scans of the area. 

His flashlight swept over River, Sarben, and Elias’s prone figures in the weeds, but was still about thirty yards away. Far enough that he wouldn’t be able to make them out fully in the tall grasses. Far enough for them to have a chance at escape. 

“Shit!” Sarben hissed as she realized they’d been caught. Hurriedly, the three of them scrambled to pull on the cloth masks they’d each brought along out of precaution to hide their identities from the sweep of the light. “What do we do?”

“We’ve got to get out of here! Abort mission,” Elias hissed back, his large hands already grabbing up half the bottles of fluid along with the now soaked rags. 

“What about the others at The Waterworks? If we don’t do this, they’re dead!” River retorted as sternly as she could while keeping her voice out of the officer’s earshot.

The approaching officer was now just twenty yards away. They needed to make a decision, but her brain was struggling to formulate a plan. Think. Think. Think. 

Her mild panic was cut off when Elias said in a disturbingly calm voice, “You two light it up, then run like hell. I’ll hold this guy off as long as I can.” His sharp jaw was set, his dark eyes locked on the approaching Crow.

River and Sarben had no time to argue, though the latter looked like every fiber in her being wanted to. Instead, they nodded, serious expressions on their faces as they gathered up their supplies. 

Gael still hadn’t given them the second signal, but they couldn’t wait any longer. It was now or never. 

River and Sarben sprang up out of the tall grasses with a dancer’s grace and started an all-out sprint towards the fuel pump. They only needed to get within a few yards—they could throw the explosives the rest of the way. 

Sarben looked back only once to see Elias throw a powerful punch at the Crow officer. She breathed a small sigh of relief when the blow landed true. 

It felt as though time itself stopped as the two 19-year-olds ran for the fuel pump. They could barely hear the muffled sounds of the struggle happening behind them as they raced. 

River’s lungs burned, burned, burned from the strain—she wasn’t exactly the running type—but Sarben’s athletic stride made her look like she could have been out for a Sunday jog…if you ignored the dark flash of anger in her eyes, the determined set of her jaw. 

Reaching a hand into the secret pocket of her jacket, River produced the lighter when they were just ten yards away from their target. The two girls slowed to a walk while she tried to light it. 

Shit. The damn thing wouldn’t light. 

River pushed and pushed on the fork, willing the cheap piece of plastic to flame to life. 

“The others are coming!” Sarben hissed, her eyes on the seven other Crow officers they’d seen on patrol. The sounds of Elias’s battle with their colleague in the grassy knoll must’ve drawn them. 

River’s eyes stayed focused on the lighter in her hands, only able to hope that Elias was winning that fight.

Sarben could clearly see the officers had their weapons drawn, but somehow they hadn’t noticed River and Sarben yet. Their eyes and weapons were focused solely on Elias and the Crow. 

Finally, the lighter flamed to life in River’s hand and she had to hold back a cry of relief. She and Sarben set to work immediately, setting the oily rags tucked into each bottle of lighter fluid ablaze. 

It happened so quickly, River could barely make sense of her own movements. 

In one moment, the two girls were heaving the flaming bottles of lighter fluid—their own perverted version of Molotov cocktails—through the air, towards the fuel pump. 

The next moment, the world was on fire. 

***