Andrea frowned and looked uneasy, “Do you have any money?”
she asked him.
“Huh?”
“Money. Do you have any MUN-EE?”
“Well, yeah,” Damon said fishing in his pockets. “I got
some.” He drew out a small bundle of bills.
“Give it to her.”
“What?”
“How many head shots did you take? Give. It. To. Her.”
“You’re going to leave her here?” Damon asked incredulously.
“
We’re
going to leave her here, yes. How do you think
Michael would react to us bringing in a stranger, especially now? We have to
leave her.”
“What?” The girl spoke for the first time. Her small, frail
voice fit her appearance perfectly, and caused Damon and Andrea to look down at
her.
After a moment’s pause, Andrea looked up to Damon and said “Give
her the money. And a MedPac. We’re leaving. Now.”
“But,” Damon began, but Andrea had turned on her heel and was
jogging down the alley. He growled to himself, “
Kyndra’s tears!
” and
then addressed the girl with barely a glance, “Sorry—here.”
Damon tossed her the bills and a MedPac before taking off
after Andrea.
Damon rounded the building quickly,
determined to catch up with Andrea, only to find that she had stopped and he
skidded to a halt trying not to bowl her over. She put a hand on his chest to
help him keep his balance.
“You don’t want a girl like that, trust me.”
Neither one spoke into the awkward silence.
After a moment she exhaled heavily, and spoke quickly, “Get
back up on the roof and finish your patrol. Move fast,
but safe
, do a
proper job of it and get back home on time. We can’t let Michael know about
what happened tonight, he’d never let you go solo again.”
Damon realized the risk she was taking to cover for him. He
felt gratitude welling up, but didn’t know what to say. “Will do,” was all he
could come up with.
“When you get back home, don’t let him see you, try not to
see many folks before you get yourself healed up. Use your MedPacs first, then
go to the Infirmary for the rest. Tell them I beat you up,” she smiled before
adding, “again.”
Damon smiled as well, thinking that she was truly beautiful
when she smiled. “Will do, boss,” he stupidly repeated again.
He was keenly aware that her hand was still on his chest;
warm through his shirt. He flexed his chest muscles and she removed her hand,
shaking her head and rolling her eyes, although the smile did not fade.
She turned and started off in the other direction along the
deserted and debris-filled roadway. Damon called to her:
“Andrea!” She stopped and turned back. “I’m sorry,” he
paused, “and . . . thanks.” He looked into her eyes and tried to make
her feel his honest remorse.
She gave a small shrug of her shoulders and replied, “It’s
fine, but get back out there and redeem yourself.” Then she turned away again
and was gone down a side street. He couldn’t even hear her footfalls over the
din of the City.
Damon backtracked to the base of the
building where he had saved the girl. He thought about her predicament but remembered
Andrea’s admonishment.
Don’t look, she’s fine,
he thought.
Don’t look and
you won’t be drawn in. Don’t look—move on and finish the patrol, you have a lot
of ground to cover quickly!
He started climbing the corner of the building
where a drain pipe gave him an easy way to the top. He paused,
don’t look.
Well, maybe just a quick look.
He dropped to the ground and ran around the
corner.
The girl was gone, and Damon’s relief actually made him feel
a little guilty.
It’s done! Let’s move on.
He scrambled back up to the roof, despite the pain in his
shoulder and hip. He stopped at the top just long enough to apply his last
MedPac to the shoulder wound since it was a deep puncture. The 'Pac would help
with the pain and fight infection, although it would not do any deep healing.
He paused to take in his surroundings and then moved off as quickly as possible
to get back to his assigned patrol route. Andrea’s voice echoed through his
head as he completed his patrol, strictly by the book.
We patrol to ensure the safety
and integrity of the perimeter. Without a secure perimeter the Family home will
be in danger. Report anomalies, do not engage. Observe, return and report. Keep
hidden, keep moving; stay quiet, stay alert.
As he traveled from rooftop to
rooftop, he took in the familiar sights and sounds of his surroundings. Much of
the area was filled with debris from collapsed buildings and all of the
associated equipment and appurtenances. Here and there could be found wrecked
vehicles, both cars and aircraft, making him wonder how cars made it to the
roof. In the distance, beyond the still-standing shells of buildings, Damon
could see the glow of the City. He spent most of his time here in the Ruins,
but he did enjoy the occasional trip to the City even though the press of people
and traffic made him nervous.
In here, he felt things were much easier. With diligence,
one could carve out a fairly secure and rewarding life. The Family was one of
many successful small groups of people living together on the edge of the Ruins
within walking distance of the City. Further away, things got more difficult
and more dangerous.
Damon returned his attention to the patrol route, making
sure that everything was in order. He checked trip wires, booby-traps and other
defensive systems along the route, making sure they were all working properly.
He took his training seriously, since the perimeter was the wall that kept the
Family safe. Andrea’s voice returned repeatedly to his mind, which he welcomed
due to its soothing effect.
4C is our home. We must protect
it at all costs. Any breach of the perimeter needs to be met swiftly and
decisively.
They had a good home, a rare location with running water,
electricity, and enough solid building structure left intact to provide
comfortable living quarters. Many of the nearby gangs would kill them all in
order to take their home, affectionately called 4C for the fading sign on the
door to the main entrance.
The patrols ensure that 4C
remains undetected and the Family protected. The guards on patrol must make
sure everything remains in working order while at the same time not drawing
attention to themselves. If outsiders noticed a patrolling guard the obvious
conclusion would lead them to search for 4C.
Damon stopped and checked the time.
He nodded in approval of himself since he had nearly made up for the time he
lost in his ill-planned rescue. The importance of the patrol as a defense of
all he held dear weighed heavily upon him since he had allowed himself to
become distracted. He could easily have jeopardized everything with his foolish
stunt. Realization of the potential consequences of his actions filled him with
further remorse and anger at himself.
Maybe Michael is right, and I'm not ready for this. Maybe
I should tell him what happened.
He realized that coming clean would also
cause trouble for Andrea, so he decided to do whatever was necessary to protect
her.
Some ‘Demon’ I turned out to be, could have killed everyone on my first
patrol!
He resolved to do better in the future.
Damon stopped at the next checkpoint and paused for the
prescribed amount of time. The sounds of the City had faded and he neither
heard nor saw anything unusual. Looking up at the unusually high building in
front of him, just outside their perimeter, he gazed at “the beacon.” A single
window near the top of the huge building was lit with electric light. It was
always lit, and had been as long as anyone could remember. Damon wondered for
the umpteenth time whether it was a home, a trap or just a strange anomaly. He
and his friends (and many generations of friends before them) were dying to
find out, but no one had found a safe way up. Stories were told about aircraft
being seen coming and going from the rooftop, but none were from reliable
sources. Of course there were also countless stories of ghosts, magic, and any
other fantastic explanation one could imagine.
Even Andrea joined in the conjecture; the lure of “the
beacon” was too hard to resist. Damon secretly daydreamed of he and Andrea
living way up there in a life of leisure. Of course, he could barely even admit
the dream to himself, much less confide in anyone else.
Sighing, he moved on. His body ached from the beating, and
the anesthetic in the 'Pac on his shoulder was wearing off. The sharp pain
growing there made him worry about the extent of the wound, although their
Infirmary could handle almost anything. He was not happy about using the rest
of his secret stash of MedPacs, but he would do whatever Andrea said after this
evening’s debacle. Sighing again, he moved on silently, heading toward the only
home and the only family he had ever known.
As Damon approached the last checkpoint he heard a sound
behind him. Ducking to the side and dropping to a crouch, he spun quickly,
tensing for a quick attack.
With a loud crash, pile of junk toppled over into the path
as someone tripped and fell. Charging forward and drawing his fist back for a
deadly blow, Damon looked down on the face of the girl he had saved earlier.
“
Kyndra's tears
! What are you doing here? How did you
get . . . I don't . . . oh man, Andrea's gonna
kill
me!” His mind reeling, he asked, “How did you get here?”
“I—I followed you,” she replied simply in her small tinny
voice.
“How did
you
follow
me
?” Damon was
incredulous.
“I had a hard time climbing up the fire escape and getting
to the roof, but after that it wasn't too bad.” The girl looked at him without
lifting her face, peering up through her eyelashes with wide, beseeching eyes.
“Um . . . Ah . . . ,” Damon stammered
inarticulately. “You have to go back.”
“Go back,” she whined, “I can't go back. Please, you have to
take me with you,” she pleaded, grabbing his arm.
Damon shook her off and stepped back, “I'm sorry,” he said, “I
can't take you with me. They won't accept you. At best they'll turn you out; at
worst, kill you!” He put his forehead in his palm, completely lost about what
to do. Andrea's instructions came to him from a session long ago:
You will meet a lot of different
people in the Ruins, it's not nearly as abandoned as it appears. Many of them
will attack on sight if they don't recognize you as one of their own. They will
assume you are either a threat or an opportunity to steal. If they act
friendly, don't believe them, it's a lie. If you believe nothing else I teach
you, believe this.
“It's a lie,” Damon murmured, trying to figure out how this
waif could be a danger.
“What?” she asked, stepping toward him.
“No. You're trying to fool me, confuse me.” He paused, and
then continued, “Now get out of here.”
“Where am I going to go-o?” She dragged the last word into
two syllables and flopped down to her knees, looking into the gravel that covered
the rooftop in this area.
Damon turned to leave when he realized he had another
problem.
She followed me this far, how can I stop her from following me all
the way to 4C?
The answer was there, on the edges of the dark part of his
thoughts, but he tried to ignore it.
Kill her. It's that simple.
What if I just knock her out? Even if I do, she's bound
to set off a tripwire or a mine after she wakes up. If I knock her out and
carry her back to where we started, she'll
still
probably find her way
back into trouble.
Damon could see only two reasonable solutions to the
problem,
bring her along and take my chances with Michael and Andrea, or
kill her.
Andrea’s voice came to him again, but now it was accusatory
rather than soothing:
Mercy. This may be the most difficult
lesson of ALL. We cannot afford to have mercy. It is too dangerous to leave a
potential enemy alive in a situation or with knowledge that could come back and
hurt the Family. I know this seems cruel and heartless, and believe me when I
say I struggle with it to this day, but it's the plain and simple truth: we cannot
afford to show mercy, it will come back to haunt us. Every time.
Damon looked down on the tiny girl
and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. He reached out to a nearby pile of
debris and grabbed a piece of bent steel. He tensed his arm and raised it up to
deliver the blow as his vision began to blur with moisture.
The girl turned her face up to him, her eyes wide with fear
but she did not try to escape. “Melanie. My name's Melanie.”
Damon paused, frozen in place, with the heavy steel poised
over his head. He stared down at her pale face, streaked with blood, dirt, and
tears. For a moment he wondered at her age, right now she looked older than he
first thought. He slammed the steel back into the pile and turned away, cursing
at himself. “Demon, HA! That's a joke!”
He started walking and she jumped up to follow quickly. He
set a fast pace and she had to take a few running steps every so often to keep
up.
“Demon? That's your name? That’s what you said, Demon?” She
spoke quickly, trying to build on the personal connection that had saved her
life at the critical moment.
He didn't answer but kept walking. His mind was racing, but
he couldn't make coherent thoughts.