The Fugitive

The screeching sirens pierced the night, search helicopters droned overhead, dogs barked and ran in a single direction. A dark figure ran, stumbling every now and again but still forcing him to run and win the chase. His strong legs flew over the ground, his destination? The forest. The boy fumbled in his pocket and drew out a small ball. Quickly pressing the small button on the side he dropped to the floor, pushing the ping-pong ball sized sphere into the soft ground. A red light flashed as he pushed himself off the ground and into a nearby river, He took a deep gulp of oxygen and swam quickly to the river bed.

Silver fish jerked away from him s he held onto a large rock to stop himself from floating to the surface. A muffled boom reached his ears, the water stirred, slightly moving him. His lungs burned for air and he pushed off the rock and pulled himself out of the river. He checked his water tight box that held the item they were hunting him for. It had been easy to find from the vague instructions given in a message only he had been able to decipher. An escape artist had been ‘coincidentally’ placed in the same cell as him in prison.

The escape artist had vanished into the night, if he had been caught, the boy didn’t care. Smiling grimly to himself, the boy climbed up the old oak tree. He quickly stripped off his wet prison clothes and rubbed his body dry with the rough sack that his new clothes were in.

Once his body was dry he changed into the dry clothes, they were slightly old fashioned compared to the fashion of this century, but they reminded him of home. The light leather trousers moulded to his defined legs, the thin soled boots slipping over them neatly; he left the silk ribbons in the black silk shirt open allowing the shirt to gape open to his chest. He rubbed the sack over his hair in an attempt to dry the thick locks and then stuffed his wet clothes into the sack. Running a hand through it he fixed it in place with the wax of his homeland. The faint odour of warm wood and honey drifted around him and he basked in the familiar scent. He knew that although the smoke bomb would cancel out the foot police, it would not affect the helicopters.

He froze against the trunk of the oak tree as one helicopter passed overhead, its strong, penetrating white spotlight scanned the ground for him. He smiled, picking up the box he slunk out of the tree and took the sack of wet clothes. Adding a few good-sized rocks to its contents, he threw it to the middle of the river. A hound howled, hearing the sound of the splash and the boy pressed a small button on the underside of the rock at the bas of the tree. An image of a dark shape appeared in the water and was carried downstream.

The boy crouched in the grass as three helicopters swung in the air, pinpointing the fake fugitive. It would take a long while before the foot police and search dogs would find out that he had slipped through their fingers like an eel. The boy watched them for a few seconds, half smiling to himself; amazed at the technology his people had taken from everywhere and anywhere to allow them to do this.

He pushed himself off the ground, keeping low as he ran across the dark hills, the growing sensation of happiness mixed with the adrenaline of knowing that he had evaded the law of this world giving his exhausted body new life.

He ran until dawn, the adrenaline now effort as his legs slowed and his body felt too heavy for him to move. The boy collapsed in the middle of a field. He gulped air into his lungs as his hands pushed the box underneath him automatically, not caring about comfort, only about the box’s safety, before he allowed his eyes to finally shut and his body and mind to succumb to the darkness of sleep.

She rode slightly ahead of her guards, sitting tall upon her proud horse. She saw the dark figure of a tall, strong young man lying face down in the grass.

“Retrieve the fugitive.” She ordered, her heavy armoured guards dismounted and picked up the unconscious man.

“Majesty, he has the box.” One said, not daring to touch the alien technology. She smiled and dismounted in a wave of coloured silks. She stepped lightly over the ground and gestured for her guards to put the fugitive down.

Kneeling by his unconscious body she took out a small pink bottle and tipped it over her finger, she tipped the bottle back up as soon as a single drop of the rare pink syrup landed on her finger.

“Wake, man of my world and see me with thy eyes.” She commanded softly, running her fingertip lightly over his lips. The fugitive’s eyes flickered open and h smiled broadly.

“Majesty, I have brought it back.” He whispered, capturing her hand with his and raising it to his lips.

“Indeed you have.” She replied her eyes twinkling with happiness. The man stood quickly, and held out his hand. She took it gracefully; a soft gasp escaped her throat as he pulled her from the ground and wrapped an arm around her small waist.

“Majesty, I am now to return home to my wife. Who I know has missed me terribly.” His voice dropped to a low, seductive tone.

“Well as your High Queen, I order you to return home immediately and show her how much you have missed her.” She replied haughtily, throwing her head back with mischief dancing in her eyes.

“I can do no other than obey.” He whispered pulling her closer to his body and lowering his head to hers. The guards turned respectively away as their High Queen and her fiancé were reunited once again.