The Union

by T. H. Hernandez

  This must be about money. A ransom or something. That seems so fantastic though, like straight out of a movie. There was that one kid who disappeared a couple of years ago, but it turned out he’d just run away.

  Maybe it’s got something to do with my Uncle David. As one of only seven governors, he has an incredible amount of power. Only the Prime Minister has more. Unfortunately, it’s the only thing that makes sense. If I have any hope of surviving, he might have to give them what they want.

  Whatever they used to knock me out is fogging up my brain, but as it clears, I realize we’re no longer moving. To my right, a door slides open, filling the space with harsh light. I squint as Beady Eyes approaches with a scruffy man wearing a menacing sneer.

  My heart hammers in my chest as they reach my side, Beady Eyes yanking me to my feet by my arm. I stumble, which makes him tug me harder. The scruffy man shoves me from behind and if Beady Eyes wasn’t holding on to me, I’d have face-planted.

  They guide me across what I now recognize is a boxcar. Since cargo trains run on all levels of the Union, we could be literally anywhere right now.

  They drag me off the train into a dim corridor, rusty water bleeding through cracks, staining the concrete. Somewhere along the way, I lost one of my flip-flops. Their boots clop on the hard floors, echoing off the walls, while my one bare foot slaps against the ground and my other slaps against my footwear.

  We stop at a freight elevator and Beady Eyes shoves me inside. I’m numb as we descend, as if this is happening to someone else and I’m merely a witness. The doors open and we enter another corridor before stopping at a small manhole cover. Beady Eyes lifts the heavy metal lid to reveal a murky shaft with steel rungs leading down. He goes first, then Sneer Face nudges my shoulder.

  I turn to look at him, wondering if he’s going to just throw me down.

  “Whatcha waiting for?” he snarls.

  “I need my hands.”

  With a sigh, he steps forward and peers down the shaft before pulling a knife from the back of his waistband. He drags the back edge of the blade down my cheek, making me shudder.

  “Don’t try anything. This knife’ll cut a lot more than rope.”

  I suck in my breath and swallow hard as he moves to my back and saws the ropes, releasing my bound limbs. Blood rushes back into my hands and I rub the ridges in my wrists. I flex my fingers a few times to get some feeling in them before I step onto the first rung, fully aware Beady Eyes is down below and Sneer Face is behind me, boxing me in. Nowhere to run. Yet.

  My remaining flip-flop slips on the second rung, careening to the ground where Beady Eyes kicks it aside. Once Sneer Face joins us at the bottom, we hike through the drainage pipe until Beady Eyes stops next to a narrow crack in the wall. It’s barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through, but that’s what Beady Eyes does. When he disappears, Sneer Face shoves me and I pivot sideways, entering the opening. My breath stalls in my lungs and I feel as if the walls are crushing me. I close my eyes as beads of sweat dot my forehead. I can’t do this.

  “We haven’t got all night,” Beady Eyes calls.

  Holding my breath, I tell myself I’m not in a confined space and inch forward. A few more steps and a slight breeze flutters across my face. A few more and Beady Eyes yanks me out.

  Out. Outside the safety of the Union walls, where nothing has survived in a hundred years. The barren Ruins, uninhabited, poisoned, wretched. My bare soles drag against dry earth and a new level of unease rolls through me. These two idiots don’t seem to be too worried about all the toxins, but they don’t seem very bright either. Maybe they slept through history class.

  I stumble on rocks, the contaminated ground harsh beneath my bare feet. Hours later, we’re deep in the Ruins and I have yet to feel any effects of dangers I’ve been warned about. Maybe it builds up over a period of days or weeks rather than hours.

  My feet ache from walking so far without shoes, every rock, stick, and various sharp objects taking their toll.

  “Move it,” Beady Eyes growls, shoving my shoulder with his palm.

  Sneer Face must realize that pushing isn’t enough, because he takes off his boots and peels off his grubby socks before tossing them at me. “Put ’em on.”

  My lips curl back and I shy away from the foul-smelling things. No way I’m I touching them, let alone wearing them.

  Sneer Face leans over, his face inches from mine. “Put the damn socks on. Now.”

  Hell, they can’t be any worse than what I’ve been walking on. I drop to the ground and pull them on. They’re so long, I can fold them over on themselves, creating a double layer of padding.

  We walk on for another couple of hours before we stop at the edge of an old road. The pavement is buckled and cracked from the extreme temperatures of the early twenty-first century and the civil war that followed.

  Minutes go by without anyone speaking. I have no idea what we’re waiting for, but now seems like a good time for some answers.

  “What do you want from me?” I don’t get a response, not that I really thought I would. My need to know what’s going on is too powerful to contain. “What do you want with me?” I ask louder.

  Sneer Face narrows his eyes and laughs. “You’re a means to an end. Think of yourself as serving the greater good. You Unis love that shit.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to understand. Just be quiet and if your boyfriend cooperates, you’ll get to go home,” Beady Eyes says.

  “Bryce? What does he have to do with this?”

  “He’s sticking his nose where it don’t belong. By now, he’s too busy looking for you to be worried about things he shouldn’t.”

  11

  Means to an End

  Two bright lights cut through the darkness, bouncing up and down along the tortured road before the vehicle they’re attached to pulls to a stop in front of us. The Union was designed for pedestrians and mass transit. The only vehicles on the other side of the wall belong to the government. So where did these guys get their hands on one?

  The driver lowers a darkened window and the man with the hooded eyes stares back at me, flashing a smug smile. I bite back a scream as Beady Eyes opens the back door, shoving me in before climbing in next to me.

  “What are you going to do with me?” I ask Hooded Eyes, who seems to be their ringleader.

  He glances over his shoulder. “That’s up to your boyfriend.”

  “What does he have to do with this?”

  “He has an unhealthy fascination with my business interests.”

  What business interests? And why would Bryce care? This made more sense when I thought it was about my uncle. Then the government vehicle would fit, but this…I got nothing. Tears of frustration fill my eyes, but I don’t want these guys to see me cry. I turn my face to the window and bite my lip to keep it from trembling.

  Maybe Jack’s weirdness had nothing to do with a guys trip, but whatever it is Bryce is involved with. All the little things about Bryce start to tick away in my head — the fact that he was leaving town right after graduation but didn’t, his name, his odd behavior in the café the other morning… How long ago was that? It feels like days, but might have been yesterday or even this morning.

  The sun is dawning when we pull up to a small house. Before the Union, people lived in detached homes instead of apartments as we do now. This place looks ancient, as if it’s been here since the mountains in the distance formed.

  Hooded Eyes yanks open my door and I climb out without looking at him. He nudges me up crumbling concrete steps leading to the front door. My hands shake and I curl them into fists to hide my terror.

  The house is a dingy white, more stained than not. Large chunks of the stucco have fallen away, revealing the brick infrastructure beneath. Cracked red tiles dot the roof and at least half are missing. More houses in a similar state of disrepair march up and down either side of the street, some with caved in roofs, others nothing more than crum
bled remains, only a chimney still standing.

  The air is pungent and the ground is scattered with scrubby-looking weeds and tall brown grass. Cactus and some cartoonish trees litter the landscape, like something straight out of one of those old Westerns Colin makes me watch.

  Hooded Eyes ushers me across the broken sidewalk at the top of the steps to the porch and opens the door, pushing me inside.

  We enter a small living room with a beat-up couch along one wall. A weathered piece of wood perched atop two cinder blocks sits in front of the couch. To the right is a round, rusted table and four wooden crates up on ends like stools.

  Beyond the table is a doorway leading into what I assume is a kitchen. A guy with black hair and dark eyes walks through it and stops, staring at me for a moment. He tears his eyes away from me, or rather my chest, and nods at Beady Eyes. “Rush, I need to talk to you.”

  Hooded Eyes turns to Sneer Face. “Take her to the back room.”

  “Do ya want me to tie her up?”

  “Naw, she’s a Uni. Even if she managed to escape, she won’t last more than a day out there.”

  Sneer Face grabs my arm and drags me down a hall, shoving me into a bedroom at the end. He closes and locks the door behind me. As soon as his footsteps recede, I rush over and try to open the door, but it won’t budge.

  The room is small and empty except for a hideously stained mattress in one corner. A narrow walk-in closet in the corner is also bare, even the rods are gone. Nothing to use as a weapon.

  Short windows are set up high, requiring me to stand on my toes to peer out. More houses sit out there, and beyond them is more grass, cactus, and weeds. Far in the distance are hills and a small mountain. I lean against the wall and slide down to the floor. Hooded Eyes is right, even if I escaped, I wouldn’t survive the first twenty-four hours.

  The hopelessness of the situation sinks in, and before I can stop myself, I’m crying. I hate that I’m crying because it’s not productive, but I can’t seem to come up with anything productive to do, which makes me cry harder.

  Sometime later, the dark-haired guy opens the door and tosses a water bottle at me. I duck and it hits the floor, but to my amazement, doesn’t break. The bottle looks like glass, but when I pick it up it’s pliable and crinkles in my hand. Plastic. There’s not much plastic in the Union. It fell out of favor along with petroleum after the war. What little plastic we use is made from polymers and imported from Europe.

  He flips me a protein bar and I reach out to catch it. After he closes and locks the door again, I open the water and take a long pull then unwrap and take a bite of the bar. It tastes like sawdust and catches in my throat, making me choke. I rinse it down with more water and finish it off before leaning my head back.

  I blow a piece of hair out of my face and get up, searching for a way out. I can’t trust my survival to a guy I barely know. If Bryce doesn’t do what they want, I’m not sure what these guys will do with me, but I’m guessing it’s nothing good. I stand on my toes to look out the window again. It’s too small for me to fit through, and even if I managed to get out of here, I don’t know how far I am from the Union, or even in which direction it is.

  Boredom sets in and I spend my time tracking the path of the shadows across the room until early afternoon. I have to pee but no one’s checked on me in hours. I yell and bang on the door until heavy boots approach, stopping on the other side of the door. When it opens, the dark-eyed guy stares at me, head tilted. His expression is almost kind, giving me a small flicker of hope.

  “I need to use the bathroom.”

  He cracks the door wider and jerks his thumb toward a door on the left. After closing the door, I’m overtaken by the stench of ammonia mixed with the gag-inducing smell of human feces. The toilet is nothing more than a metal can with a worn seat perched atop. I breathe through my mouth, hovering over the can to take care of my business.

  When I’m done, I survey my surroundings as quickly as possible, trying not to inhale. There’s one tiny window, a grungy shower stall, and a sink that hasn’t seen water in forever. The cabinet underneath is empty, and on the wall where a mirror should be only bits of adhesive remain. Too bad, mirror shards would make an effective stabbing implement.

  My gaze flies back to the window. I could break it and get a jagged piece of glass. Stretching as far as I can, my fingers land a good two inches below the sill. There’s nothing for me to stand on to get closer.

  Outside the door, I hear the dark-eyed guy shifting. I can’t stay in here forever. When I open the door a moment later, he’s not waiting to escort me back to my cell. He’s not in the hall or in the bedroom. Weighing my options, I head toward the living room.

  At the end of the hall on the right is a room filled with pallets of water bottles similar to the one he gave me, a variety of alcohol, clothes, condoms, tampons, and sugar. Where did all this come from and what the hell are they doing with it?

  Around the corner is another bedroom filled with even more pallets full of stuff. A small bathroom is to my left, and the right leads to the dining room where Rush, Dark Eyes, and Sneer Face are sitting at the table playing cards. They look up briefly when I enter, but otherwise pay me no attention.

  I glance at the couch with its sagging center and dark stains and opt to remain standing.

  Dark Eyes gives me a small grin. “You wanna play?”

  This could be an opportunity to build some sort of alliance with him. If I’m going to get out of this alive, I might need someone on my side.

  I force a smile. “Sure. What are you playing?”

  “Poker,” Rush says.

  They’re playing a version I’m not familiar with, but they give me the basic rules and deal me in. I learn Sneer Face is Hopp and Dark Eyes is Dantel.

  Hopp goes into the kitchen and returns with four cans, handing one to me. I take a sip and choke it out. “What’s this?”

  Hopp smirks. “Beer.”

  I’ve had beer in the Union, not a lot but some. This tastes like carbonated spit. I try laughing along with them like we’re all part of the same happy gang, and I’m not their hostage.

  I only take occasional sips of beer to keep my head clear, but Dantel chugs them like he’s in a drinking contest or something. Hopp and Rush exchange a look every time Dantel goes to get another one.

  Evening approaches and the sky is beginning to darken when the car pulls up out front.

  “Walker’s back,” Hopp says, panic lacing his words.

  Rush grabs my arm and drags me to the back room. They’re clearly afraid of this Walker, which means I’m terrified of him.

  12

  Dangerous Alliance

  The bedroom door creaks, startling me from a fitful sleep. It’s too dark to make out anything except a silhouette across the room. I sit up and rub my arm, sore from where I dozed off on the hard floor. Squinting into the darkness, I determine it must be Dantel, based on size and shape.

  He stumbles and rights himself. Shit, he’s drunk. I stand as he approaches, unsure why he’s here.

  “We’re alone. Let’s have some fun, baby.” His words slur together.

  Oh, hell no. I’m not interested in the kind of fun he has in mind. My heart kicks up the pace and I scan the room for options. He moves toward me, unbuckling his belt while I move away, attempting to stay out of his reach, until I’ve backed myself into the corner.

  Dantel leans in, putting both hands on my waist. His breath is stale, reeking of booze and something potent and musky, like a skunk. He crushes his lips to mine, stuffing his fat tongue in my mouth. The taste of beer is overpowering and I turn my head, fighting the urge to be sick.

  “Don’t be like that. You’re so pretty.” He reaches out and pets the side of my head.

  Fear and bile mix in my stomach and seconds later his mouth is on mine again, hungry and demanding as he gropes me. All over. I shrug my shoulders back and push his pawing hands away from me, but he’s insistent.

  My brain reels
and something clicks inside, flipping me into preservation mode. I take his bottom lip between my teeth and bite down until the salty metallic tang of blood hits my tongue. Shocked, he jerks back enough for me to connect my knee solidly with his precious baby-making parts.

  “Son of a b—” He keels over, groaning.

  While he attempts to recover, I dart down the hall and through the dining room to the front door.

  It’s locked.

  My hand shakes so much I only fumble with the deadbolt.

  Dantel stumbles toward me just as the lock turns and I yank the door open. My foot doesn’t even reach the porch before he grabs my arm and hauls me back.

  I jerk my shoulder to free myself, grasping the door frame with my other hand. He’s too strong, though, and my palm too sweaty. It slips against the rotting wood, pieces of chipped paint clinging to my skin. Dantel carries me like I’m nothing more than a bag of mulch, eyes blazing with rage as he throws me on the couch. Straddling my waist, he pins me with his weight as he pulls off his belt and wraps it around my wrists, binding me.

  This can’t be happening. Terror unfurls in my stomach as he unbuttons his jeans. Tears stream down my face, but I refuse to give up as long as I remain conscious. With newfound resolve, I fling myself forward, slamming my head into his nose. He roars and his hands fly to his face. I shake off my own pain and wiggle out from under him before dashing out the door.

  Without a concrete plan, I run blindly down the sidewalk and cut around to the back of the house, my heart battering my ribs. A dark shadow staggers after me, struggling to stay upright. My foot slips on loose dirt and I stumble forward, landing hard on the ground. I scramble to get up, my bound hands thrashing.

  Dantel swerves left, yelling a garbled mess of words. As he closes in, fear trickles through my veins. My already sore wrists rub against one another, creating friction as I wiggle my hands, trying to get the belt off. I free one hand and roll over, pushing myself up.