Asylum

The first explosion happened at 2:37 A.M. I am awakened from a fitful sleep by the rumbling of the earth underneath us and the piercing sound of the sirens that had been recently installed by the Regime as an early warning system for the siege that had felt inevitable for some time. Tremors shake the high-rise apartment building in the Capitol District that Silas called home. As the country had begun its sharp descent into anarchy and armed conflict days ago, my nerves had given way, leaving me crying and gasping for air on the bathroom floor of my home a few blocks away, unable to withstand the onslaught of adrenaline coursing through my body. That’s where Silas found me. He had knelt down on the cold tile floor beside me, holding me close and whispering soothing words, his hands stroking my tangled hair and rubbing comforting circles on my back. “Eliza, come stay with me,” he murmured.

In the fifteen years that Silas and I had known each other, this was not the first time we had shared a bed. We met as nineteen-year-old soldiers conscripted into the now-deposed strongman Asher Blackwell’s army. I had drunkenly kissed an amused Silas in the officer’s club after our return from a long campaign fighting back the bands of marauders in the Wastelands that bordered Elatia to the West. What was meant to be a one-night stand had turned into an unbreakable bond that had survived the coup d’etat of ‘47 that ousted Blackwell, the subsequent year-long period in which Elatia could best be described as a failed state, and the rise to power of President Ruiz, leader of the New Regime of Elatia.

A decade ago, an idealistic Ruiz, along with a band of supporters who are now senior party leaders of the NRE, had stormed the Elatian capitol building, pushing back members of the Medina crime family who had taken up residence there in a bid to gain political control of the country. A photographer had captured an image of Ruiz perched atop the wrought iron fence surrounding the imposing marble statehouse, the young leader’s persistence and courage on display. The image had become a symbol of hope, of what was possible, and the masses had gathered round Ruiz to usher in a new era of prosperity, justice, and peace.

When the President had tied the territory’s currency to the value of its booming mineral and oil exports, both Elatia’s GDP and the standard of living of its average citizen had skyrocketed. Ruiz had invested in roads, schools, hospitals, and other public works projects. People immigrated both legally and illegally from neighboring Aegeria and the Southerlands.

However, when the markets crashed in ‘60, Elatia was left desolate. Businesses shut down, and the majority of Elatia was left unemployed. Those who could find work couldn’t keep their electricity and water on, no matter how hard they worked. In the winter, families burned piles of the Elatian revesa, as the currency had become worthless. The once plentiful shelves of the markets were now mostly barren, with tumultuous fights breaking out as the masses attempted to grab pieces of meat and vegetables that had begun to putrefy in the hopes of purchasing anything at all. The food stalls lining the Capitol streets had largely vanished, leaving only a few vendors who made mogroma, a stew consisting of bits of leftover food harvested from the trash bins of the senior party leaders of the NRE, who snatched up for themselves what food imports made their way into Elatia. Those who could no longer afford a home migrated down to the landfill on the eastern edge of the Capitol to construct lean-tos and hovels out of scrap metal. Hospitals closed their doors, and people died at home of curable illnesses. Those who had no home to die in died in the streets, their bodies left to decay, as the territory’s sanitation services had all but stopped.

President Ruiz could think of no permanent solution but frequently borrowed large sums of money from the Medina crime family to shore up the NRE, becoming increasingly mired in a debt so large it was unpayable. Alfred Medina made it known to Ruiz that he would collect in blood instead, if necessary.

Medina was not the only one considering seizing power as Ruiz’s position grew steadily weaker day by day. General Daniel Jacobson of the NRE Armed Forces had grown to resent taking orders from the debilitated Ruiz and was rumored to be on the verge of staging a military coup. A group calling themselves the Forgotten had formed, attracting all sorts of dissidents, from roughneck armed militiamen to suicide bombers.

As the situation in Elatia became increasingly unlivable, people fled to both Aegeria and the Southerlands, seeking asylum. Those who were truly desperate ran into the Wastelands to take their chances in the wilderness that had taken back great swaths of the Earth after the Great War that was supposed to end all wars several generations ago.

With Elatia on the brink of collapse, Ruiz made one last attempt to keep the Regime afloat: a proposed visit to Aegeria in the hopes of borrowing enough funds from the Aegerian treasury to survive. As Ruiz feared assassination from any number of parties, the president was rumored to have fled in the middle of the night, destined for the Aegerian capital city of Maurek to negotiate a deal. With the presidential residence assumed unoccupied, the various factions eyeing control of the state began making their way toward the capitol in force. Aside from the more organized forces of the military and the Medina crime family, the Forgotten chaotically took to the streets to riot, loot, and burn things to the ground.

As I hurriedly finish dressing, Silas switches on the radio, hoping to learn anything of value as to what we can expect as we make the perilous journey out of Elatia. While I had been considering venturing into the Wastelands, he had persuaded me that the Southerlands were our best option, as they were sympathetic to the plight of many of our friends who had already fled there in search of asylum. I trusted Silas with my life, so we packed up the essentials into the green military duffle bag leftover from our army days and kept it ready. It was not known which faction had caused the explosion that ignited the tinderbox our city had become, the quavering voice on the radio explained, choking back tears as he described the inferno consuming parts of the city and the gridlocked streets of the Capitol district crowded with motorists and pedestrians alike trying to flee to safety.

I watch as Silas finishes arming himself for the journey ahead, a pistol at his waist, another in his ankle holster, and a knife concealed in the opposite boot. He catches me staring and smiles. “You next,” he says, approaching me with more weapons from his stash. I move to take the weapons from him, but he pulls back slightly, a trace of a smile still on his lips. I stand still as he clips a holster to my side and furnishes me with a firearm, his hand lingering on the curve of my hip. He then crouches in front of me, and rolls up each of my pant legs in turn, arming me with more weapons. His fingers brush lightly over my calves, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. He raises up in front of me, and we gaze at each other for a moment, delaying our inevitable flight into the burning night. Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I take his face in both of my hands and kiss him. After a long moment, we break apart. “I love you,” I murmur.

“I love you, too. I have for almost half my life now,” he replies before releasing me and heading for the door.

I can’t shake the feeling that I am forgetting something. I run back inside the apartment to the bedroom and open my jewelry box that sits on Silas’s dresser. Inside on a cushion of green velvet is a heart-shaped, silver locket with my name engraved on the front in a delicate cursive script. I open it compulsively, looking at the inscription inside. “With all my love, Mom,” it reads. She gave me this the night before I left to join the army. It was the last time I saw her alive.

We move quickly to the underground parking garage to an older model pickup. I head for the front passenger seat, but Silas stops me. “The truck’s not much, but carjackers would take it all the same, and I can’t risk anything happening to you.” He ushers me toward the backseat of the truck and instructs me to lie down on the floorboard near some supplies he has stashed in the truck. He covers me with a dark blanket that blends in with the truck’s black carpeting. “Stay down,” he pleads.

We make decent progress through the Capitol streets. While everyone else either takes the highway south toward the Southerlands or north to Aegeria, Silas has decided we will head west to the Wastelands, circling southwest through the desolate expanse to reach the Southerlands capital, Vellberg. He has prepared meticulously for the journey, as getting stranded in the Wastelands, cut off from all supplies, would mean almost certain death.

The truck slows as Silas encounters a bottleneck. I hear a knock on the window. Silas rolls the window down just a bit, and I hear a rough voice demand, “Give me your wallet, and get out of the truck.”

“Easy,” Silas says calmly. “I’ll give you my wallet. You can have my watch, too. It’s valuable. Just don’t shoot. Here’s the watch. I’m reaching for my wallet.”

In the split second that the man is distracted, eyeing Silas’s watch, Silas pulls his gun and fires through the open window, and I hear the robber’s body fall to the ground. He doesn’t have time to register what is happening, much less open fire on us. Silas throws the truck into reverse, jumping a curb, and driving over the patchy, rough lawns of the surrounding buildings before turning sharply down a winding alleyway, driving at breakneck speed. He doesn’t slow down until we are well into the Wastelands, where he pulls over to let me out of my hiding spot.

A couple days later, we sit in an opulently furnished antechamber in the Southerlands capitol building, waiting to be admitted into the office that lies behind the polished mahogany door in front of us bearing a brass plaque with the name Ivan Hallstrom engraved upon it. Silas and I hold hands nervously, watching the television mounted on the wall. A reporter from Southerlands Broadcasting Network stands in the decimated streets of the Elatian capital.

“We’re live from the Capitol district in Elatia, where General Daniel Jacobson has successfully staged a military coup to gain control of the state. Jacobson’s forces overpowered those of his rival, mob boss Alfred Medina. Medina is now imprisoned at Iron Towers Penitentiary awaiting execution, along with many members of the Forgotten, whose uprising Jacobson successfully quelled during the night. The whereabouts of former President Ruiz are unknown, but-” he stops mid sentence, distracted by something. “I’m told there is breaking news from Vellberg. Over to you, Ana.”

The camera cuts to a woman standing on the steps of the Southerlands capitol building. “I’m here in Vellberg, outside the office of President Ivan Hallstrom. We have just spotted deposed Elatian President Eliza Ruiz and her longtime associate Silas Quinn.” The camera cuts to a photo of Silas and I, ascending the steps of the statehouse. “Ruiz is undoubtedly here seeking asylum. Although Jacobson might seek to extradite, President Hallstrom, a longtime Ruiz ally, is weighing his options and is expected to announce his decision tonight.”