Hadrian's Rage (21 page)

As soon as he steps off the Nat tram (Hadrian's National transportation system—electronic trains that look like silver bullets except when moving), Devon feels like he is right back where he had left that very morning, The Northern Gate. The Midwest Gate looks exactly like every other gate where Devon has ever been stationed. All land gates are constructed of wood with decorative iron, illustrating Hadrian's fighting men and women combating the enemy, and they all rise to the daunting height of three stories. This, of course, is not for any practical reasons, just for a show of strength, and not just to the outside world; Hadrian's citizens need to be reassured of their safety so every time
Salve!
reports an attack somewhere against the Wall, its cameras always zoom in on these images pre- and post-newscast. The Wall extends beyond both sides of each gate and is built of thick concrete. The first few kilometers spanning left and right of the gate proper are compound headquarters and barracks housing both soldiers and civilian workers. Each gate is the equivalent of a small city, with housing, shops, theatres, and all forms of entertainment to keep the soldiers from going stir crazy during down times or to help them let off steam after an attack. Although Devon cannot see that far, he knows the Wall continues beyond the compound, in most places still three stories high, but with only the depth of one small room and hallway. This allows for provisions and armory to be stored and sparse accommodations for those soldiers stationed at each fifty-yard guard tower.

It really is amazing how much Hadrian's Wall has grown since Devon's eighteenth birthday, when he had been required to sign up to serve. Back then, there had still been hundreds of miles of open spaces with mere barbwire and electrical fencing. Now, most of the border has been walled off.
Salve!
's call to arms a few years back wasn't so much for soldiers as it
was for construction labor. Every new recruit spent the first year in the military doing “mortar and cement duty.” Currently, there is only one section of Hadrian not walled in—the southern grasslands region along the borders of Quadrants One and Two, near where old Augustus City used to be situated. This entire area, including much of the richest grasslands in Hadrian, was contaminated by the dirty nuke set off by the fanatical Christian, Jeremiah F. Butler, that fateful day still referred to by all as 6-13. Very few of Hadrian's citizens are willing to work or live there because they fear radiation poisoning. The argument that outsiders aren't likely to care about the danger since their lives are so desperate anyway has been addressed by the extensive use of cameras and drone snipers on the guard towers along the southernmost border. The job of installing and maintaining these has been delegated to the least respected members of Hadrian's citizens—the re-ed faction. The least desirable jobs always go to those most desperate to find work.

And yet, not the entire Wall was designed strictly for defense. Stretches of the Wall between guard posts have been dedicated to sucking carbon out of the surrounding air and converting it into carbon neutral fuels, an energy source the military makes use of for many of its vehicles, guidance systems, and aircraft. Based on early twenty-first century technology, these unique sections of the Wall look more like giant stacks of cubes, each with an enormous fan inside it.
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Devon had the unique opportunity to work on the construction of one such carbon capture zone of the Northern Gate wall. Being a part of securing the nation from outside attack as well as helping to cleanse the air of pollutants gave the young lieutenant a real sense of purpose and national pride.

As he walks towards the general's office to check in, Devon runs over his explanation for transferring once again. Although he has no viable reason for wanting to be at this particular gate, Devon had successfully convinced his preceding superior officer to release him. It's the “Birtbastard” (General Birtwistle—referred to as such, not so fondly, by the soldiers under him) that has Devon worried. Rumor and report suggest the man is not one to be so easily fooled. He knows he won't actually meet with the “Birtbastard,” but his staff will have been trained to his idiosyncrasies. Whoever cross-examines him will be speaking in the “Birtbastard's voice.”
Still
, Devon reasons,
there
is nothing wrong with asking for a change.
He sighs melancholically as he looks around him.
Not much of a change, really, but I could claim this gate sees more action. Or,
he considers,
I could say I suffered from a serious breakup and needed to get away from my ex.
Weak, but it is an excuse that has worked with others in the past, so it might just pass muster here.

Whether or not his story passes muster, Devon feels secure knowing his transfer was approved by Lieutenant-General Pauloosie.
That won't stop the “Birtbastard's” staff from grilling me,
Devon muses gloomily. Still, he needs to be here at the Midwest Gate. For some reason, a reason he can't even explain to himself, he needs to be near Frank Hunter. He needs to look into the eyes of the man who killed Todd Middleton. Even though he had been hurt by Todd's refusal to sleep with him, and claimed to be gleeful when Todd was exposed and sent away to reeducation camp, that never changed the fact that he had fallen deeply in love with Todd. Todd's death had come as a blow to his heart, one so painful that he found it impossible to continue seeing Frank's little brother, Roger. He tried not to blame Roger for what Frank did, but every time he looked at his young boyfriend, he saw Frank Hunter, and then the urge to kill began to well inside.

The last time Roger and Devon made love had ended in disaster—it ended their relationship. Devon knew he was being rough with the boy, but every time he looked into Roger's eyes, he saw Frank Hunter. When Roger begged him to stop, Devon slapped him across the face and told him to shut up. When Devon was finished and had finally rolled off him, Roger started to weep, “You promised me—”

“I promised you nothing.” Now Devon cringes at the memory of his own insensitivity.

Roger bawling, muttered between sobs, “I said no S&M, and you said you'd never hurt me. You agreed. You promised me—”

Devon wouldn't even apologize; instead, he ended it. “I guess we're over then.” Without even looking Roger's way, he ordered the young man to get dressed and go home.

“I hate you!” Roger cried. “You fucking Vibia bitch!”

These words still echo over and over in Devon's mind.
I wonder if he still hates me? He has every right to. Hadrian help me, he muses, I fucking hate myself. Hurting Roger like that when all I really wanted to do was hurt Frank—and myself. Is that why I'm here?
he wonders.
Just to hurt Frank?

As soon as he was conscripted into the army, Devon began following
Frank's career through the military's data wave.
Career,
Devon muses.
More like stagnation.
It took Devon less than two years to rise from private recruit to second lieutenant while Frank Hunter is required by law to remain at the ranking of private recruit. As a result, Frank Hunter will always be a foot soldier. And yet, from everything Devon has read in the reports about the military's first penal private, Frank has managed to garner respect from the highest levels, and even though he can never carry the rank officially, it is said the “Birtbastard” considers Frank Hunter an elite sniper. Some even claim to have seen the “Birtbastard” actually talking to Frank Hunter, apparently to ask the private recruit for advice. That has never been proven, though. Still, Devon considers it a distinct possibility, remembering how strong a leader Frank was when he co-cap'd the Pride Panthers b-ball team.

The only way for someone to get close to Frank Hunter is to be assigned his guard or take up extreme running. Since becoming Frank's shadow would mean a demotion in rank, Devon decides it is time to get back into shape. Frank Hunter's legendary runs are common knowledge throughout Hadrian's military. It didn't take long for word of his incarceration and odd ways to reach the ears of nearly every soldier in Hadrian's army. Being privy to this knowledge before arriving at the Midwest Gate, Devon had already added running to his workouts. Running is hard for Devon even though he and Todd Middleton ran a lot together the one summer they dated. Knowing he has to be in prime shape if he is to keep up with Frank, Devon forces himself to run anyway, struggling all the while to push aside painful memories. Regardless of the fact that Devon began training for this task months prior to even applying for his transfer, he still finds that keeping up with Frank Hunter is a monolithic task. The man has been doing his run up and down and back and forth along the three-mile stretch of the Wall he is contained to by his tactile tattoo restraint for almost four years now.

Unfortunately for Devon, Frank can tell when someone is shadowing him on his runs. This only encourages Frank to push himself even harder so Devon will not have the opportunity to catch up. Frank's biggest fear is talking to anyone from his past, so when Frank runs, it is from his past. The
last thing in Hadrian he will ever let catch up to him is his past, and Devon Rankin is a direct link to that past. To Todd Middleton. Even though it is common knowledge that no one can keep up with Frank on one of his runs, Devon is determined. Although he has never been successful as a long distance runner, Devon can sprint, so he determines shortly after arriving at the Southwest Gate, and after a few too many failed attempts at catching up to Frank, that he will catch Frank mid-run when he is on the ground running between stairwells. Devon lies in wait behind the central stairwell, the one leading up to the main gate guard tower. As soon as Frank lights off the stairs and begins running toward the next stairwell fifty meters away, Devon chases after him. The sprinting tactic works, but only momentarily. Devon knows he can't keep up the pace, especially since Frank, clearly annoyed at his presence, begins to run faster. It isn't long before Devon is left in Frank's wake without even being able to utter hello. Devon knows that the only way he is ever going to have his “talk” with Frank Hunter will be after he tackles and pins the man to the ground.

Tackling and pinning Frank isn't as easy as Devon thought. Although Frank never wrestled in high school, leaving Devon to think he has the edge, he was very quickly schooled in all the various maneuvers during hand-to-hand combat training. And Frank Hunter has always been a fast study. So, even though Devon tries to pin him face down by using the Double Leg Takedown maneuver, Frank, anticipating the move, is able to spin on his heels, press his hand down on Devon's head, grab his right arm, twist him around, and then slam his back down onto the ground, winding him. Before Devon can even catch his breath, Frank leaps down on him like a hawk. Flipping Devon on his side, Frank quickly slips his right arm between Devon's legs and his left arm under Devon's head and neck to clasp one tightly with the other. Devon is rendered immobile and barely able to breathe, let alone speak. This doesn't stop Frank from demanding, “What the
fuck
do you want from me?”

All Devon can muster in response is “I—want—you—”

“What? What?” Frank's rage has increased, his face reddening, his right arm painfully squishing against Devon's groin while the crook of his left arm digs deep into Devon's Adam's apple. Devon can no longer respond to any of Frank's queries. For a brief moment, their eyes meet. Devon's eyes are watering from the pain and frustration; this uncomfortable position in Frank's arms is oddly erotic, causing him to harden. Frank, feeling the
sudden growth, squeezes Devon tighter for a millisecond before releasing him. Instantly, Frank grabs Devon's face in his hands and kisses him.

It isn't until much later, after the two men retreat to Frank's quarters, that Devon finally gets an opportunity to talk to Frank. By now, though, all questions about Todd's death seem moot. It is as if their lovemaking has cleared everything up for Devon. He isn't sure why or even how; he just knows that Frank killed Todd because he loved him. Frank Hunter had loved Todd so deeply he was willing to take the young man's life. Devon doesn't even want to know why anymore; knowing that is enough.

Strangely, it is Frank who initiates the conversation. “Why did you come here, Rankin?” Devon, resting his head on his right arm, looks over at Frank. Hunter is lying on his side with his back to Devon, his face towards the barrack wall. Using his left hand, Devon feathers his fingers over the small of Frank's back. Frank shivers. “Answer me, Rankin!”

“Call me ‘Devon,'” seems to be the only answer the young man can give for the moment. Never in his wildest dreams did Devon ever envision himself with Frank Hunter, and then he had always figured Frank would be the aggressor, penetrating whomever he pleased, not being the one launched into. And yet, that was the very method of lovemaking Frank had insisted upon. Devon came at him from behind, and Frank had gripped both of Devon's hands tight against his throat. At one point, Devon felt as if Frank were trying to strangle himself with Devon's hands. It was highly erotic, and he knew he had to make Frank come before he killed him. Successfully freeing one hand, he gripped Frank's penis and brought the man to a climax. It was almost simultaneous, and Devon collapsed onto the small mattress with a satisfied groan. He didn't even notice how Frank slowly lowered himself into the fetal position away from him.

“All right,
Devon
, why did you come here?” The dry emotionless quality of Frank's voice and the sarcastic slur to his name causes Devon to pause. “It sure as Hadrian wasn't just to fuck me, now was it?”

“No—I mean—”

“No bullshit!”

“I did come here to see you. And, no, it wasn't to fuck you. I wanted to know—I—it doesn't really matter anymore.”