City of Beasts

by Corrie Wang

  Su sighs. “Glor, we don’t have time for this. The beasts could attack at any moment.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I’m checking for.”

  “I didn’t mean us. I meant home.”

  Before I can grab her, Su is sprinting through the intersection. Just as fast, I see what I missed before. There are tire tracks in the snow. Fresh ones.

  “Su, wait!”

  Halfway across the intersection, Su is suddenly bathed in light.

  She drops to a crouch. Freezes.

  The light comes from the Burger King Green parking lot. It’s the headlights from one of the same driverless trucks that litter our roadsides. Which must mean the beasts figured out how to bypass the dead GPS and override the computer error screen. Oh good. Smart ones, then. There’s a plow on the front and a solar panel attached to the hood and bones painted on the tires.

  Both doors open.

  Enough smoke pours out to warrant a bucket of water. And with it?

  Actual living beasts.

  There are five of them. Three more than Liyan’s stay-and-fight protocol allows. They all walk upright. Which I guess I knew but still didn’t expect. One is noticeably larger than the others, and it takes point. And maybe it’s a trick of the backlighting or the snow flurries, but from where I’m crouched, its skin looks blue. Like, old calendar photos of the ocean blue.

  “Oye,” the blue beast shouts. “You mayor’s, little norm?”

  English. I think. I recognize the words, but the meaning makes no sense.

  Snubbing a lifetime of training, Su is still frozen in the middle of the street.

  Music blares from the truck’s speakers. If you can call it music. A flat high tone that has a drumbeat pounding into it, but no fee rapping or singing over it.

  EEEEEE-DUNDUNDUNDUN-EEEEEE-DUNDUNDUNDUN-EEEEEE…

  “Glori?” Su whispers, petrified.

  The beasts move toward her, like a swarm of hornets. There are smiley-face decals on the truck’s headlights. They cast wicked grins on the building behind us.

  “Coming to meet a mate?” the blue beast calls. “Get a bump, maybe?”

  EEEEEE-DUNDUNDUNDUN-EEEEEE-DUNDUNDUNDUN-EEEEEE…

  Su is more frozen than the icicles hanging from the street signs. The beasts are only ten feet from her. Then five. Goodness gracious. They’re not even that big.

  I stand up and shout, “Do Bye-Bye, Night-Night.”

  The beasts all spin on me. My command kicks Su’s reflexes into gear. As the snow flurries lull, she fumbles a slim metal tube from her breast pocket. I take a similar one from mine.

  “Oy! Hands where I can see them!” the blue beast shouts.

  “Don’t dart the leader!” I yell as Su brings the tube to her lips.

  EEEEEE-DUNDUNDUNDUN-EEEEEE-DUNDUNDUNDUN-EEEEEE…

  But it’s too late.

  Next second, the blue beast raises a paw to its face and fingers the tiny tranquilizer dart that’s planted in its cheek. Around it the others crumple, each of them with one of my darts sticking out of their faces. Su darted the leader, and I got everyone else. The blue beast goes down a second later.

  EEEEEE-DUNDUNDUNDUN-EEEEEE-DUNDUNDUNDUN-EEEEEE…

  “Bye-bye,” I say breathlessly as I run up to Su.

  “Night-night,” she finishes.

  We grip each other in a tight hug.

  “Sorry,” she says as soon as I release her. “I got scared, then excited. Thanks be that I preloaded. I didn’t know I could blow that fast. And in this wind. I’d like to see Cocoa do that.”

  I can see the divots in the snow where most of her darts landed, but I won’t ruin her triumph by telling her she didn’t blow that fast. I did.

  Instead I roll my eyes. “Yes. You are very impressive.”

  Just as I stoop to bind the beasts’ hands and feet, a flash of color dashes from the shadows to the beasts’ truck. So much for this area being deserted. There’s another one out there. As I yank out Mama Bear the door of the building behind us slams open. A beast wearing an old bathrobe and hiking boots gestures at us frantically.

  “In here. Quick. More will come.”

  The beast is shorter than me and less muscular than Su, with thin lips and a weak chin. Radiation-burn-induced keloid scars ravage the right side of its face, but the left is bumpy, like dozens of cherry-pit–size balls have been implanted underneath its skin. Radiation poisoning gave you mouth ulcers, peeling skin, fever, and lifelong lethargy. It took away your white blood corpuscles. It made you sterile. And if you were 95 percent of the global population, it killed you.

  Radiation didn’t do this or turn your skin blue.

  “You’re looking for the little one, yes? Them too. But Cutter knows where he is.” It pats its own chest. “Cutter can help. Come. Come.”

  “You know where Two Five is?” I ask, not bothering to hide my disbelief.

  At the sound of my voice, the beast shivers.

  “Cutter saw him. At the river. Please. Come, come. Cutter means you no harm.”

  Still talking, it is absorbed back into the pitch-blackness behind it.

  “Nice knowing you,” Su says, and slaps a hand into my belly.

  But then one of the tranquilized beasts lets out a groan. Another twitches and tries to roll over on his stomach. The darts are supposed to last ten times as long as this. Or, at least, they would have two decades ago when they were first manufactured.

  “One third-person-narrative beast or five angry ones?” I ask.

  “Let the record show, I do not have a good feeling about this,” Su grunts as she unsheathes her hatchet.

  “Don’t worry. We won’t be here long.”

  “Yeah. That’s kind of what I’m afraid of.”

  The moment we step into the gloom and shut the door, Cutter is beside me.

  “Miraculous. Cutter knows what you are. Cutter knew the minute he saw you.” It leans in and breathes rank air on my face through rotten teeth. “You’re women.”

  Women.

  How long has it been since I’ve heard or read that word? It came from a different time. A time before the ice caps released their carbon. And the oceans rose. And the planet became a place of mainly insufferably hot and unsustainably cold regions. Before Buffalo’s population exploded thanks to its facsimile of a spring and autumn. This was back before a hacker accessed our countries’ nuclear codes and blew everything up. Before the ensuing retaliations. Before the majority of the world’s population died or was orphaned practically overnight.

  Women.

  Back from a time when beasts and fees still lived together. When both weren’t rendered (mostly) sterile by radiation. Before a beast named Fortitude Packer rose from the ashes that were Buffalo and campaigned for a lifestyle of scavenging and riches, drawing hordes of other beasts into his fold. Before a fee named Matricula Rhodes stepped forward and championed fairness and order. Back before things got nasty and Fortitude introduced his ridiculous Breeder Bill. Before everything got violent and someone shot Fortitude in the head and fees fled to Grand Island for safety. To live separately.

  It was only supposed to be temporary.

  Women.

  Back from when beasts were called something different as well.

  Men.

  The fifth-floor apartment the beast leads us to is a mess of clothes, empty aluminum cans, and antique posters of barely clothed fees. It smells like sweat and dust and something else that’s dry and scratchy and gets stuck in my throat. Despair maybe.

  As soon as we’re inside, the beast locks the door behind us.

  “For safety. I mean you no harm.”

  “You said you know where Two Five is,” I say.

  Its eyebrows furrow.

  “The little one,” I clarify.

  “Oh yes.” It smooths back its greasy hair, then wipes its paws on its pants. “He is here.”

  Su grunts with barely suppressed fight-or-flight.

  Other than mold, there is no sign of anything living in this ap
artment. Post-Night has clearly made this beast mad. Luckily, fees have a saying—we have a lot, actually—“Excellent preparation assures excellent results.” Which is why I didn’t only bring Su with me, but three other fierce fees as well.

  Hidden inside my boot, Baby Bear is strapped to my right calf. An exquisitely sharpened paring knife—drop a piece of hair on Baby’s blade and she’ll halve it as effortlessly as my grand shares advice. Slim, my boning knife, hangs out in a scabbard at my hip. Her blade is as thin and lethal as Su’s patience during the heat months. And sewn into a special pocket on my backpack is my most valuable possession. My cleaver, Mama Bear. Her handle juts out enough to grab in a flash but not enough to be seen with a casual glance.

  Liyan said since my girls were made from Japanese steel, they probably belonged to someone called a chef. I thank her daily but tonight a little extra as I slide out Slim.

  “Right.” Su nods. “Don’t hesitate. Kill it.”

  The beast holds its hands out to me. “No, no, no. It’s truth. Cutter was at the shore. Finding lunch. Cutter saw three bring him across. In a boat. Cutter hid. The little one fought, escaped. Cutter led him here. Same as you. He is here.”

  There were three masks. That didn’t change the fact of the empty room.

  “Not here,” Cutter says. “Look.”

  It waves us over to a bedroom and gestures to a far wall where a door-size hole has been cut through the dry wall.

  “This whole building is Cutter’s. The little one is safe upstairs. Cutter gave him meat. Squirrel. He sleeps. Cutter will bring him to you. Wait. Wait.”

  Nodding and gesturing for us to stay, it hurries away.

  “I do not like this,” Su says. “Glor, please let’s get out of here. There’s no way that thing is coming back with Two Five. And I can practically feel all the dead bodies up in here.”

  My ears perk up. A few floors below, I hear doors opening and slamming shut. Someone calling, “Yoo-hoo.” The other beasts must be fully awake and searching for us.

  “It said there were three beasts. That can’t be a lucky guess. Suze, if there’s even a one percent chance it does have Twofer, we have to see this through. If not, we’ll knock it out and get the hill out of here. Promise.”

  Su glances around the dingy living room and crosses her arms. She’ll stay, but she’s not deigning to take one more step. There are two candles lit in the apartment. I take one and run my fingers along a bureau. Su shakes her head no. On Grand Island, I never passed up an opportunity to scavenge. And this is a beast’s stuff. I quietly slide open the top drawer.

  I glance inside, then at Su, horrified.

  “Su, get out. Now!”

  It’s filled with dozens of magazines that all have naked fees on the covers.

  As Su spins toward the apartment’s front door, it swings violently open. She screams in surprise, and right as the door bounces off the wall, I glimpse an equally surprised figure on the other side. A yellow bandanna is pulled up around its mouth and nose. Just as the door slams shut, Cutter runs out of the bedroom, cutting me off from Su and the exit.

  At least, I think it’s Cutter.

  Now it’s shirtless. Its pale belly flops over tight black leather pants and its head is covered by a see-through stocking. It’s also carrying a whip.

  As if nothing is out of the ordinary, it asks, “Did Cutter hear something?”

  Its answer comes as the apartment door is kicked open again. This time Yellow Bandanna runs in toting a long tube with some kind of compression machine on the end. Faster than I can throw Slim, it fires two white missiles right into Cutter’s stomach. The force flings the beast backward like congee whipped off a spoon.

  “WHOO!” it shouts. “That was intense. Thank bumping heavens I found you when I did. Cutter was about to Temple of Doom your asses.”

  Everything about Yellow Bandanna is fast and loud. From its movements, to its speech, to its bright blue hat, puffy orange coat with all its buckles and straps, and shiny yellow sneakers that match the bandanna. As it walks over to Cutter and tosses the whip across the room, the only reason I’m positive it’s a beast is that no fee would ever make such poorly camouflaged clothing choices. This must be the flash of color I saw outside.

  It kicks Cutter in the ribs.

  “That’s for whatever it was you were about to do to these nags.”

  Cutter lets out a little poof of air. It kicks it again.

  “That’s for always stealing from my squirrel traps.”

  It kicks it again.

  “And that’s just karma, you dumb goit.”

  Cutter groans. The white things it was hit with lie next to it and have come unraveled.

  “Are those… T-shirts?” I ask Su.

  Yellow Bandanna swings its cannon-like gun at me. I twirl Slim so I’m pinching her blade.

  “If you throw that knife at me,” it says, “I’ll shoot you, so help me Rhonda. And maybe they’re poly-cotton blend, but the T-shirts leave a Lake Erie–size welt at this range and hurt like a father bumper. Let’s all stay calm.”

  Slowly now, it lowers its bandanna. A beast no doubt, yet entirely different from all the other ones we’ve seen so far. Tall and lanky, it’s about our age, with smooth unmutilated skin. Unlike Su, myself, and the rest of the Heinz 57 über-mixed multi-ethnic fees our age, this beast seems bred of a single race. Fully Chinese like Liyan, I’m guessing. I’ve never seen someone so young be so sole-racial. As if further letting us acclimate to its appearance, it takes off its baseball cap. Its haircut is short and neat. Except for the star that’s shaved into the fade, it looks almost exactly like Su’s hair.

  Eyes flicking from me to Su, it studies us with as much interest as I study it. Or maybe it’s simply making sure we don’t attack. Regardless, it has absolutely paused Su. Mouth ajar, she hasn’t moved since it kicked in the door. I lower my knife.

  “There we go. You two all right?” When neither of us answers, it rolls its eyes and says louder and slower, “Are. You. Okay? I saw you cross the river. Let me guess, you’re chasing after that little boy, right? Everyone’s been buzzing about him all day. Comma said he thought it was bunk, but I told him if there was a little boy, someone would come after him. But nooo, he said. If there’s a kid, Dictator Matricula and Mayor Chia will handle it diplomatically. My ass.”

  As it talks, it moves around the gloomy apartment, shoving things into its pack—duct tape, a small gold picture frame, a refrigerator magnet with a buffalo on it. When it finds the collection of magazines, it takes a thermos from its bag and pours hot water into the drawer. Naked fees must not be to its liking.

  “Man, you two nags have bad luck. First, Mystique and his crew. What goits. Just because you tattoo yourself blue doesn’t mean you have crime-fighting superpowers. It means you have poor judgment. The mayor’s been telling Mystique to mind his own business for years. Now this scavenger rat? You are literally attracting the worst. Speaking of the worst, my name’s… Wait. That didn’t come out right. I meant, speaking of the worst, I’m the best. My name’s Sway.”

  Su looks to me. I look to her.

  It whispers, “This is where you introduce yourselves.”

  “What do you think?” I ask Su.

  “I think it talks too much and will turn us in first chance it gets.” Su brings up her hatchet. “Do you want to kill it or should I?”

  “Okay, then!” Sway slowly moves to the door. “Not to ruin this uncomfortable and physically threatening gender bonding we’re all engaging in, but since I have a paused KillCrush C game to get home to, I’ll be leaving now. Alive. Please and thank you.”

  “Wait,” I say. “Don’t go. We need your help. We are looking for the little, um, boy.”

  “Yeah. You and everyone else,” Sway says.

  “But it’s different for us. Two Five is my brother.”

  The word sounds so foreign on my tongue. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it spoken before.

  “Glori,” Su groans.
<
br />   “No use keeping it a secret anymore, Su. And this beast did kind of save our lives.”

  “Beast?” Sway’s eyebrows dance upward. “That’s a rapid and harsh character assessment.”

  “Maybe this beast is less creepy than that one.” Su nods at Cutter. “But it’s no more trustworthy and no less unappealing. The only thing it saved is that Cutter beast from dying.”

  “Did we not establish that we all speak English here? And back up that verbiage. Did you say brother?” Sway pronounces it carefully so I can hear my mistake. Bruh-ther. Not BRO-ther. “So, A, the kid actually does exist? And, B, you’re related to him?”

  “C. Yes.” I nod. “Now will you please tell us where Two Five is?”

  “Ha!” Sway laughs. Just once. Then looks between us, confused. “Wait. You’re not joking? How should I know where he is?”

  “Ask someone,” I say impatiently. “I mean, aren’t there only four thousand beasts?”

  “You’re telling me you know every single fee?” he says.

  “Of course we do,” Su sniffs.

  “At least by sight,” I clarify, though I also know everyone’s name, age, and address. But that’s how my brain works. “Plus, they wore animal masks. I’m assuming they had to check those out of a library or borrow them from Supplies….”

  Sway gives that lone laugh again—ha!—then shakes his head. “Y’all are delusional.”

  Su steps forward, and he quickly holds his hands out in surrender.

  “Also, seriously, nags?” he adds. “Two Five? You’ve been hiding possibly the only child on the entire eastern seaboard and you don’t even give him a proper name outside his citizen number?”

  I’m too stunned to register his criticism. Our entire plan was based on the assumption that all beasts knew each other. I hadn’t even considered otherwise. Seeing as I quite literally can’t imagine what else I don’t know, how can we expect to last another two minutes here, let alone find Twofer?