Page 11 - BBR_fallwinter14

the answers.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, and he whirled around to stare into the black visors of three se- cret police guards. The adrenaline began coursing through his system, and he could feel his heart start to race in his chest.
“Can I help you, o cers?” He asked, focused on keeping a neu- tral tone and an air of innocence.
The guard’s voice was a monotone, with no room for negotia- tion. “You’re under arrest for sedition and conspiracy against the government. Come with us.”
Rouge stared for a moment before reacting instinctively, bring- ing his st up to connect sharply with the face guard of the rst o cer. Another blow followed, coming down on the top of the guard’s helmet with a sickening crack.
The other guards reacted in kind, seizing him by both arms and holding him still, allowing the guard he had injured a chance to take revenge. The blows to his ribs
came in quick succession, leaving
Rouge reeling and powerless to defend himself. He began to lash out blindly at the men holding him, loosening their grips enough to allow him to sink to the pavement. Covering his head and face, he picked himself up and tried to outrun his pursuers, his injured ribs screaming in protest at every step.
He didn’t get far. Next thing he knew,
there was a sharp pain in his head, and
he was falling again, down to the cushion of a snowbank. He saw only gray and black as he fell, and then everything ceased to exist.
Étienne...
He awoke with a pounding headache, easily the worst of his life. Opening his eyes, he saw Étienne and Jean standing by his bedside.
Étienne looked concerned, but he managed a smile when he saw Rouge’s eyes open. “Hey, how are you feeling? We thought we’d lost you.”
“It’ll take more than whatever that was to bring me down.” Rouge retorted, smiling a little. “How long have I been out?”
“Only a few days, you hit your head pretty hard.” “Pierre was having a heart attack, wasn’t he?” “Oui. He didn’t sleep at all the rst night.”
Both of them shared a laugh at that, knowing that their friend Pierre- the medical student and hypochondriac of the group- was quick to panic over even a paper cut.
“Anyway,” Jean interjected, “We have news for you. We need to ght as soon as possible, our cover has been compromised.”
“Merde!” Rouge sat up in alarm and instantly regretted the ac- tion.
“Lie down, it’s okay. We’ll still make it.”
We’ll still make it?! He wouldn’t deny, he was worried.
After New Year’s, the planning o cially began for the revolu- tion. Ammunition and weapons were procured; Étienne and Pierre held self-defense and medical tips classes for protest- ers. Rouge organized everything, down to the time of day, and spent every waking hour preaching into a megaphone. He spent his nights at the cafe, with war plans, or passed out on a table after too many speeches. There were stumbling blocks, of course, but he removed them from their paths, sometimes with force.
He knew he was breaking down, he had seen the signs. The stress ate away at his features, harden- ing the softness of youth into the edges and angles of a warrior. His eyes turned cold, in contrast to the hot blood of revolution that powered him. Even so, he kept the banners ying. He wouldn’t quit now, not when they were so close to the perfect world.
It started suddenly, when po- lice tried to break up a rally. Shots were red, and the revo- lution began. Rouge and his lieutenants rallied their troops, leading them in the charge on the oppressors. Some fell, but their numbers vastly overwhelmed the small police forces, who withdrew from the rain of bullets and makeshift bombs. Rouge was carried to a podium by a screaming crowd and worshiped
on the altar of freedom.
“They’re back! They’re coming!” The yell from a bystander shattered any dreams he had ever had.
The police had indeed returned, with an army to spare. Shout- ing commands, Rouge dove into the fray for one last assault. He soon realized his mistake, but it was too late.
Jean was the rst to fall, the crimson roses on his jacket match- ing the one in his lapel. Pierre was next, caught while trying to aid an injured woman. Étienne, realizing his guns were out of bullets, cast a desperate look at his best friend before collaps- ing at the base of the podium that was serving as a makeshift barricade. Rouge was backed up to the edge of the podium and held his ground until he too was cut down, falling to come to rest next to his friends.
The smoke would clear, soon, and the commanding o cer of the police would make his rounds through the bodies. He
“The adrenaline began cours- ing through his system, and he could feel his heart start to race in his chest.”
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The Blackbird Review