We got a fucking cop here? someone new shouted. For fucking real?
Not anymore, he aint, croaked a woman who sounded like she breathed whiskey and cigarettes.
Thats what stinks in here, another one bellowed. I thought it was
me.
Laughter, rusty and weak, drifted past me. I opened my eyes again, sweat immediately flowing into them, stinging. The head in front of me hadnt changed. It was a little shorter than me, round and bald with a fuzz of fresh whiskers growing on it. The upper edge of a dark tattoo appeared just above the neck restraint, a complex pattern of swirls and crosses. Id been staring at it forever and I had no idea what it meant, if it meant anything.
Hey, the man behind me whispered. Hey, whats your name?
I blinked, unsure if he meant me.
Hey,
he hissed again. Whats your
name?
I licked my lips with my dry tongue. Id give all the yen I still had in anonymous accounts, trillions of it, for a fucking drink of water. Cates, I said, my own voice thick and raspy, unfamiliar. Avery Cates.
There was a pause. No shit? Damn, I thought you was fucking immortal.
I tried a grin as an experimental expression. Nope. Just still alive. I thought about asking his name but discovered there was nothing I cared less about.
Howd they get
you,
man? Shit, it must have been a fucking bloodbath.
I smirked for my own amusement. Yup. A bloodbath. I remembered sitting there, letting them put the bracelets on, feeling the gun against my head and
wanting
it, just feeling so tired.
Were you sick? the chatterbox came back. Hell, I almost shit the bed. Lying in the street just fucking
bleeding out of my ears,
you know? I thought I was dead.
I didnt say anything to that. I couldnt take a deep breath without pain, but I didnt need to prove anything to this guy. I could feel a change in our momentum, a slight pressure against me. We were slowing down. For a second, I wanted to move so badly I would have kicked and screamed and rattled my cage, just to stretch my fucking leg out for a second. Id heard stories about Gunners standing still for hours, for daysall bullshit, Id decided. No one could do it. Not even Canny Orel, who if you believed just half the shit about him was the baddest ass there ever was. Even
he
had to scratch his ass now and then.
The deceleration was getting more pronounced, pushing me forward, and everyone noticed all at once, a buzz of chatter sweeping up and down the train car. They all sounded excited, like this was some fascinating trip. Like the bracelets and the gun barrel against your head, the sap against your skull, and the involuntary train ride where you couldnt even stretch your fucking bum leg was all the System Pigs way of telling you you just won the fucking lottery.
Everything started to happen fast.
The lights came on, super bright and terrible, clicking on with a sizzle, one bulb exploding into sparks just about over my head. The light burned my eyes, making me squint and try to turn my head as much as I could.
A door far up at the front of the car snapped open, a fat man framed in the entrance. He was tall and round and wearing a baggy police uniform, a Crusher, a low-level cop. A gun was strapped to his hip, riding low because he had long arms. I peered at him with dry, scratchy eyes and considered: his face was flat as if hed been stepped on in the womb and outlined by a black beard that was trimmed to a neat point.
He stepped into the car and stopped. He looked around, his expression gaining a hint of amusement. The train was moving so slowly now I could feel every bump and twitch.
Welcome to Chengara Penitentiary, the not-Crusher said in a booming voice, a great voice, deep and rounded and with precise, particular enunciation, like hed been to school. This was, I thought, either the Systems most overqualified Crusher or not a Crusher at all. Or something else that Id never encountered before. The thought was depressing.
This is your orientation, he continued, putting one hand on the butt of his gun, an easy, nonthreatening gesture that drew my eye and made me nervous. I stared at his hand for a moment and forgot my fucking aching leg and remembered I couldnt move, not even to turn my head away. It will last thirty-six seconds and will not be repeated.
He looked around again, satisfied with the impression he was making.
Chengara is an EOT installation. EOT stands for end of term. You do not get released from Chengara; you do not move on to any other location.
He smiled. There is no escape. Should you choose to take your chances, we will not break much of a sweat to stop you. There is a wall and towers, and we will snipe your ass in a second if we can, but if you scale the wall and run for it, good for you! There is nothing but hundreds of miles of desert around you, and you will be dead within a day. This is not idle bullshit. One day. Its even
worse
in the winter.
No one is being paid to protect you or keep you alive. You want to fight each other? Kill each other? Go aheadI dont get paid enough to stop you. He shrugged. We log you in alive when you get here, and its just paperwork for me if you die. A Standard Incident Report. I can fill one of those out in
one minute.
So feel free.
He paused to look us all over. Some of you think, Im sure, that because some cunt of a paper-pusher put your name on a list, because some asslicker in an
office
somewhere decided to classify you as a
Person of Interest,
you have achieved some sort of protected status. Indeed, some of you may have been spared execution on the spot precisely because you are POI. Well, fuck that, and fuck you: there are no interesting people on this train.
He drew his gun with impressive speed and flair. Before I could shout or twitch or do anything, he turned to the poor sap strapped in to his left and shot him three times in the goddamn face. I saw the guys arms and legs jiggle with each shot, and then he just hung there, the liquid sound of blood dripping onto the floor clear in the sudden, mean silence.
There are no fucking
paper-pushers
here. None of you are special, and none of you will be seen outside of this facility again. Remember that, punks.
And with that, the non-Crusher smiled, holstered his gun, and turned for the doorway. It snapped shut as he stepped through it. The silence clung to everything. When the train stopped moving altogether, the restraints all snapped free at once, and everyone sagged to the floor with a groan. My legs buckled under my sudden weight, and I went down onto my knees, catching myself on my palms, my face staring into the asscrack of my fellow prisoner. I spent a profitable few seconds staring at the rubbery black material of the floor. It felt damp and smelled like piss.
Everybody up!
The voice of our new friend, the non-Crusher, crackling and tinny over the trains PA system. I looked up, my head shaking slightly, my neck cramping up. We all struggled to our feet, shaky and rubbery, stretching painfully. Both my calves seized up into iron-hard cramps, dropping me back to the floor. I bumped the guy behind me as I curled up, grabbing my legs and massaging the muscles, grimacing, clenching my teeth.
I said everybody
up,
the voice snapped.
Panting, I rolled onto my knees and slowly got to my feet. My calves ached to match my leg, each flaring up in a distinct rhythm. The moment I was upright again, the PA clicked on.
Good. Row by row, exit the fucking car.
No one moved for a moment, and I knew we were all thinking the same thing, thinking maybe we
dont
move, maybe we put a stop to this taking-orders bullshit right here. But there was no play therewe were on a bullet train car, with no access to the pilots cabin, rubber legged and unarmed. You could almost see the realization going from head to head:
were fucked.
Someone near the front of the car started moving, and one by one none of us could think of an alternative. When the guy in front of me started to stagger forward, I twisted my head until my neck gave me a satisfying pop and staggered after him.
Hey, Cates, the guy behind whispered. You remember everyone you killed?
I blinked. Yes, I said, without hesitation. I saw them all, flashing through my head. I saw them with perfect detail, every pore, every blown pupil and ruptured vessel. I didnt know all the names, but I knew enough of them.
The end of the car was an impossibly bright square, just pure white. Heat blew in, a dry steady wind. It felt good after who knew how long being frozen in the trains crank air, and I shambled toward the exit with something approaching enthusiasm. At the edge of the train car, I stopped and squinted around, reaching up to shade my eyes from the bright, painful sunlight, my throat deciding it didnt like the hot, dry air and seizing up, making a choking noise that fell dead at my feet.
We were in the desert all right. A few feet down, the ground was sandy and cracked, with little scrubs of sad-looking grass here and there. In the distance I could see mountains, so far away they looked like a painting, a backdrop. The sky was a pale, light blue that looked thin and delicate. Sweat popped up all over my body. I forced a breath into my lungs and it burned all the way down.
The train had stopped inside a gated area, the chain-link fencing rising up on either side about twenty feet, topped by barbed wire, just wide enough for the train to pull in with an inch or so on either side for clearance. The only way to go was forward, and I saw the prisoners whod exited ahead of me stumbling, blinking, and panting, along a path that forced you into a spare-looking cinder block cube looking like a single room, no windows, just a small, darkened doorway. Stretching off to the left and right of the structure was a massive wall of the same material, as tall as the chain link and with its own barbed wire. Glancing up, I could see a tower in the near distance, blank and gray and topped by a railing. A single figure stood atop it, tiny and vague.
Suddenly, I was pushed hard from behind. I stumbled, lost my balance, and fell, hitting the hard, hot ground hands first, scraping skin and sending a shock of pain down my back and leg. I shot my breath out of my nose and blinked my eyes to clear them, listening carefully, all my old instincts rushing to the fore. Running with the snuff gangs in Manhattan, Id taken plenty of beatings, but you learned over time how to give as good as you got. And you never forgot.
I took a handful of the warm dirt in one hand and started coughing, stretching it out until I heard the scrape of his shoes as he dropped down and stepped toward me. I stopped coughing and waited for instinct, then whirled, sweeping my bad leg out as I did so and catching his ankle. I didnt knock him down, but I threw him off balance so he was backtracking as I lurched upright again, swinging my arm around and aiming the dirt for his face. I didnt get a bulls-eye, but I made him turn his head away long enough for me to rush forward and crash into hima tall, wiry Asian guy with tan skin like coffee and long black hair tied back into an impressive tail. He went down and I went down with him, landing with my knees on either side of him and showing him a close-up of my fist, asking his opinion on it. He didnt like it and spat a bloody tooth back at me, grinning nice and red.
You fucking remember them
all,
Mr. Cates? he slurred, laughing. You are
sure?
I stared down at him, running his face through my memories, trying to match him up with someone. What were the fucking odds? But I guessed wed all been sucked up out of New York, and Id killed a lot of people in New York.
I rolled off him, and he was up immediately, spitting a glob of red phlegm onto the ground and walking off without a glance back, strutting. I lay there and watched him go, perplexed, and slowly climbed to my feet, dusting myself off. After a moment, I realized someone was standing on the other side of the thick chain-link fence. I looked over at him, squinting against the glare. He was the shortest man Id ever seen, old and wrinkled, his snow-white hair wispy and thin and dancing on top of his head. He wore a bright orange jumpsuit of sorts, grimy and tattered, and grinned at me, yellow teeth and chapped lips. He was so small I thought I could slip him into my pocket. He nodded at me, smiling.
Welcome to Chengara, Mr. Cates, he said in a rolling accent, stressing all the wrong syllables like he was reciting a poem. Youll do well.
III
I WASNT SURE I WANTED TO RESIST
Walk with me, Victor.
Vic rolled the toothpick around in his mouth for a second or two, thinking it over, and then sighed heavily and peeled himself from the wall. We took a few steps along Las Vegas Boulevard in silence, Victors sweaty, broad brow wrinkled up in anxiety, and his yellowed eyes shifting from side to side.