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This story is dedicated to our dear friend, Janett Gomez. She always gave us the confidence to continue writing. We could still feel her presence as we finished this story. Fly high, beautiful angel.
ONE MORE STEP would mean certain death … and now, it was no longer a choice. Time had run out. It was my last chance. My only chance. Tonight would be the night of The Obliteration. The night that anything and everything with breath in its lungs would meet its end. The mercy in the situation, for the few authorities who cared, was that two generations of vile prisoners inhabiting the island would never know what hit them. Murderers, rapists, child abusers, drug lords, all of those who had escaped the death penalty when it had been repealed at unification, would finally get their just reward. Death. The explosives had been strategically planted beneath the soil. The potent chemical cocktail loomed above the ceiling of grey clouds, waiting to descend upon activation. F-15’s were stationed on a nearby carrier, ready to demolish any sign of survival. The Global Order had left no room for error in planning the destruction. No expense had been spared. Even the shoreline had been secured by the Global Sea Guard. In exactly two hours, Tabu Island would be nothing but a barren land of sand, cleansed of the sinners who once wreaked havoc on the planet.
There I stood, locked in fear, straining to see through the wetness rolling from my forehead. If not for my father, who at the inception of this island had been charged with engineering every facet of agriculture, I would not even know it existed. I wouldn’t know of the lush green forests, the black sand beaches, the well-hidden pastures, or the secret underground maze of utility tunnels. Nor would I know of those babies who were born after the cleansing. The now young adults who, because of the sins of their exiled parents, had never known peaceful community life. Like the rest of the population, I would be oblivious to the fact that there was even an island off the southern coast of Old Mexico. I definitely wouldn’t know about the holding chamber I was trying to break into. And I most certainly wouldn’t know about her.
Rapidly working to disable the power to the security gate, my fingers raced, and my mind flashed back to the first time I ever saw her, the spicy, brown-haired, brown-eyed girl. It was my maiden trip to the island, the summer before my freshman year. Father had decided it was time to begin my Ag apprenticeship; though many years had passed, it seemed like yesterday.
I could still picture a dainty girl bobbing in the water trying to catch a wave on an old piece of driftwood. Curious to see another person my age on the island, I parted the tall grass behind which I was hiding and strained to get a closer look. Even amidst my current struggle to get to her, I worked to stifle my laughter, remembering how the old log popped through the back of her legs and thumped her upside the head. The stubborn look on her face as she picked it up and slammed it back into the water still ignited a thrill inside of me that I’d never known before her. Never known since. Yet at the same time the charge surged through me, I was haunted by the fact that if I didn’t work fast enough, I would never feel that sensation again. Nor would I ever feel the warmth of her living body next to mine.
Shaking the memory, I refocused my sights on the grid before me. One wrong move and the laser would take my entire hand. I held my breath and steadied my hold as I clipped the final wire. Retreating from the tiny explosion, I dropped to the ground as sparks flew and the lights dimmed. The mud squishing between my fingers was a thankful reminder that I still had a hand at the end