Hurricane Heart

Hurricane

In the end, I slept in the living area. It was the largest room in the base, complete with a sofa and chairs and a TV which naturally didn’t work anymore and a small kitchen area and a table. Arjan was chained up and the door to his room was locked. Hopefully, there was no way he could get out.

I couldn’t sleep, so I switched on the radio, hoping I could try and pick up a signal around here. However, as usual with the radio, it bored me almost to the point of tears within seconds, and I switched it off, ready to throw it into the wall and destroy it and its crappy music. Nevertheless, I restrained myself, and spent the next half an hour trying to find a way to get the ancient ipod dock to work, and then trying to get it to register my ipod. After that, it was heavy metal all the way until I fell asleep. If Arjan had any doubts about who I was, the music was sure to set him straight.

Morning came, though only the numbers on the digital clock told me. There were no windows down here on the lower level, and no natural light could get in here underground. I climbed up, a little stiff after sleeping on the sofa—what idiot had forgotten to put in beds down here? The place in Lithuania had been so much better equipped.

***

I threw the Interrogation room door open, turning on the light. Even though it was dim, Arjan rolled over, startled awake and half-blinded as his eyes began to adjust to it. I chucked down a simple set of clothes for him which I had put in the car after the Master had told me to ‘be prepared for being out for a few days, and be prepared to spend time with other people.’ The clothes were accompanied by another bag of fruit and a ready-made sandwich, and I turned to leave again.

‘What are these?’ he asked groggily, looking at the clothes.

‘They’re clothes,’ I told him. ‘What do you think they are?’

‘Eh, you know what I mean!’ he said, clearly grouchy. Today wasn’t going to go well if he stayed in this mood. I, however, was allowed to be like this. I had special permission.

‘No, I don’t,’ I said, playing ignorant. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ he began, growing more irritated every time I spoke, though he got annoyed when I didn’t, ‘why these? Black; that’s fine. But what’s with the style; these jackets haven’t been in fashion for years? And black jeans? No one wears black jeans anymore. Do you want to get us arrested?’

‘That all used to be stylish; before the Revolution,’ I snapped back. I turned away, then turned back, a new idea for an interesting conversation coming into my head.

‘Arjan, who do you think I am?’ I asked. It was a test, and he took it that way.

‘Well, surely you’re one of the rebels,’ he said. ‘I mean, the clothes—what are you wearing, and what have you given me? And you were playing some...I guess you could call it music, last night, but it sounded more like screaming.’

I grew defensive. ‘It’s not screaming. It’s much better than whatever they play on the radios these days.’ I paused for a moment, allowing my voice to soften. ‘Are you scared?’

He turned away. If he was scared, he would have cried out ‘no!’ so maybe that meant he was genuinely brave. Or maybe it just meant he was almost too afraid to talk.

Arjan

Hurricane silently unchained me from the wall, and I shook my hand free like her touch was poisonous. She ignored my actions; what more did she expect from me?

‘Go and use the shower if you like,’ she said. ‘There’s some stuff in there.’

Without replying, I got up and picked up the clothes and went into the bathroom. I shut the door, but I could still sense her standing around outside, just in case I tried to make a run for it. She had already changed clothes, and her long, black and pink hair was damp in places from evidently having washed it. Thinking about it, I had no idea how long she’d been up. Judging by how long the ‘music’ had gone on for last night, she hadn’t slept much at all.

I finished showering and got dressed into the clothes she had provided for me. They fitted well, almost as if she had been expecting me, but they weren’t fashionable in any way. I never understood this much; if the rebels were going to be in public, why did they deliberately dress to attract attention? I’d have thought it would be the other way round, where they tried to blend into the general public so as to go about their business unhindered.

Yet, every time one appeared on the news, they were always dressed rather eccentrically. Eccentric could cover pretty much anything—it was often ‘punk’ or ‘goth’ or ‘emo’—throughout history these were some of the titles given to typically non-conforming fashions. And yet, some were just generally eccentric, whether they were going out wearing party dresses or bright, clashing colours or just simply what was the most unfashionable outfit at the time.

And now it seemed that Hurricane was trying to get me into it all.

My first thought was that I most definitely was not buying it.

And yet, my second thought was; but why not?

What was so wrong with the rebels? They weren’t terrorists; I had never thought of them that way, though of course I didn’t dare express my opinion to anyone. They were just freedom fighters. They were brave enough to stand up for what they believed in. I didn’t think that such an attitude should be suppressed. I’d just never seen one in real life, and if I had I wouldn’t have had the courage to join them. I was not that brave.

Maybe if Hurricane was a bit nicer to me, I would consider...not joining, but maybe...understanding them a little more, but that was the biggest decision a person could make. It would irreversibly change their life forever.

But she wasn’t nice, and she wasn’t fair, so right now, I was still a good, law-abiding citizen who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had been kidnapped and disguised.

I pushed the door open to find her, as I’d expected, standing around outside. She seemed to be texting on her phone, and the familiar screaming ‘music’ was back again.

‘Go and have something to eat,’ she said coolly. I went back into my makeshift bedroom and started eating.

She came in shortly.

‘We’ve got to go,’ she announced briskly. ‘Finish eating. Hurry up.’

I took one last bite of the half-eaten apple that there was nowhere near enough time to finish, and followed her out. She hadn’t given me enough time, but I wasn’t hugely hungry anyway.

‘Come on,’ she said, a hint of urgency in her voice.

‘What is it?’ I asked, deciding that I would refuse to move until she told me.

‘We’ve got to go,’ she said.

‘Why?’ Now I could be stubborn. If she wanted something from me, she had to earn it.

She shot me a murderous glance, and I saw her hand linger on her gun for a moment, considering it, before moving away again.

‘Now, Arjan.’

There was no use. I was stubborn, but it seemed that she was unmoveable. Reluctantly, I trudged up the stairs after her, and I was not even on the top step before she grabbed my hands and roughly tied them together with one of her endless pieces of rope.

I sighed, growing tired of this. I didn’t understand. She wasn’t interrogating me, or probing me, or torturing me, or locking me up—not in the conventional sense, anyway; just to keep me safe until the following morning when she’d dragged me out again. Whatever she wanted from me she wasn’t making very clear. And now I realised that we were only ever going to be in and out of the car, most of the fear had gone. We’d driven all day yesterday, and all through the previous night, and it seemed that we were going to be driving again today. I was sad, I missed home and mum and dad, but I wasn’t really scared anymore. Something would have to change.

‘Seriously?’ I asked, looking at my bound hands.

Hurricane pulled a face. ‘You think I’m just gonna let you wander loose around the forest all you like? You’re a guy, Arjan; you’re probably stronger than me.’

I didn’t know why she said it, apart from to perhaps lure me into a false sense of security. From what I’d experienced, she could be seriously strong when she wanted to be.

I shrugged. ‘You’re the one with the gun.’

As I was becoming accustomed to, she turned away, not bothering to reply. I followed her out of the strange, little building, which I still hadn’t worked out its purpose, and she locked the door.

A grey dawn shone through the forest canopy, a small amount of light managing to force its way right down to the ground. It was a cool, early summer morning, and I was a little chilly in my jacket. I just had to hope that she approved of heating in the car. The chances were that I wouldn’t get a say in the matter.

Still in her characteristic bad mood, Hurricane swung open the back door, muttering ‘get in.’ I complied, for reasons I did not know, and she got into the front and quickly began driving at full speed down the lane. So far, I had not seen any speed limit signs, or any other cars to compare us to, but I reckoned she was going at twice what was recommended for a small side road like this.

‘Why are you going so fast?’ I asked, having to raise my voice over the ugly grumble of the engine.

‘We need to get back on the main road,’ she said.

‘What’s so urgent, though?’ I cried. Despite everything, I was determined to know some answers. She was a rebel. She was one of them. She had an entire story that I both wanted and needed to know.

And, of course, I had to find out why she needed me. That much was imperative. She’d taken me away from my entire life and not even explained why.

‘It’s none of your business!’ she snapped angrily. This silenced me. Whilst she seemed to be in a permanent bad mood, she also never seemed emotional at all, so this sudden outburst was a little shocking.

‘Alright,’ I muttered sarcastically, hopefully too quietly for her to hear, sitting back in the seat and wondering how I could untie my hands, ideally without her noticing.