Truancy Origins (24 page)

The boy then burst into black smoke for the last time, swirling around Umasi in farewell before dissipating for good.

And then Umasi shut his eyes, and all that was white turned to black.

Dear Sirs,

I did not expect to be contacting you again so soon. However, anything out of the ordinary in this City tends to stand out, and lately I've seen some troubling signs in the Mayor's office. I have nothing but suspicions as of yet, but activity in the office has suddenly and inexplicably increased of late. In particular, we had an Enforcer named Rothenberg in here a few days ago. The man has a brutal reputation, and it appears as though the Mayor has given him a special assignment of utmost importance and secrecy.

Again, all I have is pure conjecture, but I felt it odd enough that you should be informed. I'm almost certain that the Mayor is hiding something, though admittedly I have no idea what it is or how serious it might be. Perhaps some of your other observers in this City will be better placed to investigate? I will await further orders concerning this matter.

Your Servant,
207549627    

 

 

 

W
ith weather like this, I wonder if there's any point to refrigerating these trucks.

Suppressing a shiver, Red shook his shoulders to dislodge some stray snow that had fallen on him as he climbed into the back of the truck. All around him other vagrants worked in silence, taking care not to intrude upon each other's claim. For once, Red admitted grudgingly, Chris had been true to his word. Since rejoining the gang they had safely made their way up to District 25, where they had indeed been able to break into the loading dock of a supermarket. As a bonus, the blizzard had even snowed in the business, and without any employees around, the whole store was ripe for the picking.

Apparently they weren't the only ones who thought so. By the time they had arrived, a number of other vagrants were already swarming over the trucks and crates. Amazingly, however, no fights had broken out; none of the other vagrants seemed to belong to a rival gang, and everyone was more interested, at least in the short term, in feeding themselves rather than fighting with others when there was plenty to go around.

“Grab as much as ya can, take as long as ya want,” Chris had said. ”If any of them wanna cause trouble, we'll sort 'em out.”

As he worked, Red glanced over at the boy working next to him. He didn't think he'd ever met the kid before, which wasn't surprising considering that Chris' group rarely ever ventured into this part of the City. Still, there was something strangely familiar about the boy—the shape of his face, his vaguely yellow skin, his dark hair . . .

Red dismissed it as his imagination and turned back to the matter at hand. He seized upon a package of uncooked bacon and stuffed it into his bag with the rest of his pilfered goods. As he did, a potato slipped out of Red's hand. Red was about to retrieve it when the boy's arm shot out, seized the potato, and held it out to Red in one fluid motion.

Red stared at the proffered tuber while the boy continued gathering his own fruits without sparing him so much as a glance. Red hesitantly accepted it and didn't ask any questions, though a dozen new ones were now brewing in his mind. The boy's simple act of generosity was unheard of among vagrants. What's more, the boy's speed was unusual for a starved vagrant—not impossible, to be sure, but unusual, especially considering how scrawny the boy looked.

Now doubly curious, Red continued filling up his sack while watching the boy out of the corner of his eye. The boy was completely silent as he worked. In fact, he was so unnaturally relaxed that it was almost as though he were in a daze. But upon closer inspection, Red saw a sharp awareness glittering in those dark eyes . . . along with something else hiding deeper beneath the surface—something decidedly dangerous.

Red shook his head and refocused on his food. The kid didn't seem to pose any immediate threat, and Red was content to ignore him. The boy, for his part, seemed perfectly unconcerned with everyone else inside the garage. For a while the tenuous peace held, and Red had nearly filled his bags to burst when the sound of footsteps announced new arrivals.

“You!” an infuriated voice cried out.

All heads turned to see what was going on. There, glaring at Chris, stood a vagrant that Red recognized as one of the three who had cornered him with the knife he now carried in his belt. Moments later, a half-dozen other vagrants slipped through the space under the garage door. Among them was a boy Red knew as Glick, their leader. Realizing what was happening, a number of Chris' cohorts began rallying together, though Red chose instead to watch from inside the truck like the neutral vagrants.

“Glick,” Chris greeted. “You still leading this bunch then? That must be some sort of record for ya guys. Grats on going a week without snuffing it.”

“Thanks, but I think you were the ones really setting records this week, Chris,” Glick retorted. “How many of your buddies did you manage to get killed? 'Bout half? We'd be happy to add a few more if ya like.”

“You like to talk about numbers, Glick, but there's more of us than you,” Chris said—and he was right; the small group assembled around him narrowly edged out the handful that stood with Glick. “Did you come all the way up here to die? Can't say I blame you—I wouldn't wanna live with a face that ugly either.”

“You idiots got the Enforcers swarming all over the lower districts,” Glick accused. “We decided to check this one out, only it looks like you're stinking things up here too.”

Chris and Glick stared each other down, the vagrants on either side fidgeting restlessly. The tension in the room seemed ready to explode at any moment. Reaching slowly for the knife at his belt, Red waited. If a fight broke out, he had decided to join in. It wouldn't do to have Chris' gang lose; after all, some among Glick's crew might recognize him.

Then, to everyone's utter shock, a gunshot rang out, and Glick fell to the floor, dead. Red blinked in confusion; he was sure that none of Chris' crew had a gun. For a moment the rest of the vagrants seemed equally baffled,
until the garage door abruptly slid upwards to reveal a number of larger, uniformed figures.

“Enforcers!” Chris shouted almost gleefully as more shots were fired into the tightly massed gangs.

The children all reacted instantly. Some, like Red, spun around to assess the situation. Several Enforcer patrols, their car sirens now flashing outside, were storming the garage. Other vagrants, like the strange boy who had sat next to Red, didn't bother to look around at all, but instead dived out of the truck and towards whatever cover they could find.

The latter had the right idea.

“Rodents! Pests! Scum!” Red could hear an Enforcer shout as bullets slammed indiscriminately into the truck. “You'll pay in blood for those goods!”

A vagrant crumpled to the floor next to Red, pierced by a bullet. The sight prompted Red into action. Lunging for cover behind some wooden crates not far from the truck, Red experienced an unpleasant sense of déjà vu at the chaos unfolding around him. Dozens of vagrants were already moaning on the ground or, worse, lying completely motionless. Chris was nowhere to be found. Feeling the weight of his bags, Red realized that he was carrying too much to make a clean escape. Now wasn't a time to be greedy. Without hesitation Red dropped all but one bag and reached for his knife.

As the nearest Enforcer approached his hiding place, Red prepared to leap out and stab the man in the back. There was once a time when he wouldn't have dared try it, but he had since seen for himself that Enforcers could be killed. But just when he was about to lunge, his wrist was caught in a firm grasp. Spinning around, Red found himself face-to-face with the strange boy he'd seen earlier. Red opened his mouth to ask what the hell the kid thought he was doing, but the boy cut him off by shaking his head solemnly.

Red shut his mouth and lowered his weapon. There was something about the boy's gaze that forbade argument. The Enforcer, in the meantime, had already passed by and was now reloading his weapon. Red glanced over at the distant garage entrance, unsure of what to do. Red's companion, however, showed no such indecision. Standing up abruptly, the boy seized a potato from the floor and hurled it. The tuber slammed into the Enforcer's pistol just as he finished reloading it.

The gun went off, and the man screamed in pain, having shot himself in the foot.

Even before the projectile found its mark, the mysterious boy had already leapt into action, lunging towards the Enforcer and body-slamming
him against the wall before he could recover. Red's jaw dropped as the boy seized the writhing man by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall again, dropping him to the ground.

“Let's go,” the boy called at Red over the persistent sound of gunfire. “The others are going to notice pretty soon. Two stand a better chance than one.”

Red nodded, not in any mood to argue with the formidable stranger.

The boy seized the fallen Enforcer's gun and made a dash for the entrance, his bag of food slung over his shoulder. Red quickly followed suit, jumping over stacks of crates as he ran. Just as they reached the exit, they heard an Enforcer shout behind them, and bullets began flying in their direction. Red and the stranger managed to duck out of the garage and onto the snowy streets as bullets slammed into the pavement around them.

Red dived behind an Enforcer's patrol car, the other boy joining him as they watched other vagrants scramble away. Some unlucky ones were quickly cut down, staining the snow crimson. Red winced as a particularly nasty spasm of pain jerked through his gut. He knew there was no chance of evading pursuit, as the snow was more than thick enough to leave clear footprints.

“Do you know your way around here?” the boy asked suddenly, causing Red to jerk in surprise. He'd almost forgotten about his enigmatic companion.

“Uh, kind of,” Red answered. He was new to District 25, but he'd gotten a good look at the nearby alleys on his way in.

“When those guards try to leave the garage, I'll make them keep their heads down,” the boy said, holding up his stolen weapon. “I'm not sure how many shots it has left, and I won't be trying to hurt them, but I will be able to buy you some time.”

“Time for what?” Red asked confusedly. Surely not even this kid was noble enough to sacrifice his own neck so that a stranger could escape.

“This street is on a slant. Go up to the corner and kick a garbage can down,” the boy ordered. “After that, run somewhere we can lose them, and I'll follow.”

The plan sounded sensible to Red, and it would allow him to make a run for it no matter what happened. Red sprang to his feet and ran for the street corner. At first he could hear the snow crunching beneath his feet, but those sounds were soon drowned out by gunshots. Looking behind him as he ran, he saw a couple of wary Enforcers peer out from behind the safety of the garage walls, firing at the car behind which the armed vagrant now crouched.

The boy sprang up and fired back twice, forcing the adults to duck for
cover again. Red noticed that, true to his word, the kid's shots weren't landing anywhere near the Enforcers, though the men weren't in any position to realize it. Red found such behavior remarkable, if more than a little strange. As far as Red was concerned, alive and blameworthy was preferable to dead and admirable.

With that in mind, Red came upon the street corner and scrambled over to the lump of snow under which a garbage can had been buried. Excavating the cylinder as fast as he could with his bare hands, Red winced as he heard more gunshots ring out. Finally breaking the can out from its icy prison, Red quickly turned it on its side and gave it a kick in the right direction to get it started.

Red spared just a moment to watch as the garbage can rolled on down the sidewalk, gathering snow into its surface as it went. A second later he was sprinting towards an alley across the street, bag still slung over his shoulder. The other boy, realizing that Red had succeeded, sprang out from behind the car and followed. The guards, seeing their prey make a break for it, leapt out from behind their cover as well.

Just in time for a massive cylinder of snow to flatten them like a giant white rolling pin.

Red heard confused yells and angry shouts coming from behind him, and he could only assume that the ploy had worked. Soon he was back within the familiar maze of alleyways, and paused to take a breath, certain now that the other guards would pursue some closer, clumsier, and slower target. He was beginning to relax when he felt a hand on his shoulder, nearly giving him a heart attack.

“It's me,” a familiar, calm voice said.

Red spun around and found himself facing his impromptu ally. For a moment he wondered why he had been so surprised; the kid had said that he would be following. Then Red realized that he hadn't heard the boy approaching at all, a discomforting realization for the seasoned vagrant.