by Corrie Wang
“You found Twofer?” I ask with disbelief.
“What do I look like, some tech-inept nag?” Reason laughs. “Of course I found him.”
Ignoring both his gibe and my impulse to flip his chair over, Sway and I gather in tighter around Reason as he clears the rest of his screens.
“I don’t have footage of him coming ashore. When nags blew up the first of the two south Grand Island Bridges, we lost all those toll cameras. I mean, obviously. But if Cutter saw him, that must be where they crossed, so I scanned other footage in the area. And I found this.”
On two of the holoscreens a dozen different traffic intersections pop up. Suddenly, the same Prius E drives through each video. This car is a lot nicer than the gas-powered clunker the beasts used to take Twofer on the island. Reason lets the footage run through once, then replays all the screens and pauses each one when the car is perfectly centered. He pulls one of the shots to a holoscreen and zooms in.
This can’t be right. There’s only one beast in the car. Yet three took Twofer from home. But then I clutch Reason’s shoulder. He yelps with pain. A little head of curls just popped up in the backseat of the Prius, and I’d recognize those chubby cheeks anywhere. I squint and lean even closer to the screen.
“What’s that on Two Five’s window?”
Reason increases the size by 50 percent and slows it down. The image isn’t sharp enough to see if Twofer’s crying or tied up or even if his mouth is gagged, but on the breath-frosted glass next to him, it’s clear that my brother drew a series of shapes. Two boxes. One on top of the other. With a triangle at the very top tilted sidewise.
“Looks like a house,” Reason says. “Maybe he’s drawing home.”
“Our house looks nothing like that,” I say.
“Harsh much?” Sway asks. “He’s five.”
“It’s probably just a doodle,” Reason says. “I always doodle dogs.”
“And that surprises no one,” Sway says.
Two Five does love to draw, but then the whole window should have been covered. This means something. I’m sure of it. It’s supposed to mean something to me.
“I lose him here at this New York State tollbooth.”
We watch as the Prius flies through the abandoned toll stop. Its tires crush the hand of a disintegrating corpse that lies half out of the booth. Reason pauses the screen. This camera angle is from the front and better shows the driver. He’s wearing a knit ski mask. A thick braid of long black hair hangs down his shoulder.
I peer at the still. “Where is this?”
A street map of Buffalo is instantly on-screen.
“We’re here”—Sway jabs at the map—“and that’s right…here.”
There is a cucumber-size amount of space between Sway’s two fingers. And not a gherkin. A proper English cucumber. As a shaggy, copper-hued dog only slightly smaller than Mastodon hops into Reason’s lap and licks his cheek, my stomach gets tight and panicky. Twofer is even farther away than that?
“Okay, so where are they headed? What’s out in”—I squint at the map—“Orchard Park?”
“Not a lot.” Hugging his dog, Reason moves his cursor and circles something that’s called New Era Field. “The farms, primarily, and then a whole lot of nothing.”
“I heard a rumor Chia was letting the mob work at the farms now,” Sway says.
Reason shrugs. “Yeah, but I already checked the stadium cameras. Nothing. No one but the normal workers in or out all day.”
“Sway, back at your loft, Comma said there was a place out past the farms. Where bad things happen.”
Sway points at what looks like an empty patch of land. “Got any cameras here?”
Reason nods. “Rugged’s security systems…”
Reason swipes and clicks, and then we have a ten-camera view of a house and the outlying surrounding streets. Reason rewinds the footage, until suddenly, in the very corner of one of the screens, a Prius E careens into view and then back out of sight.
“That street only leads to one place,” Reason says, pushing back from his desk.
I tap the screen that still shows Twofer’s window drawing.
“I don’t think that’s a house or a random doodle.”
“The Fortress.” Sway whistles. “Which means, this is a worst-case scenario come true.”
Reason nods. “Last I heard, the mob was using it as their butcher shop. And I’m not talking steaks. I’m talking you cross them, you get sent to the Fortress and get cut, then nobody sees or hears from you again.”
“Excellent,” I say. “How do I get there?”
“Well, first you’d book a transport—that will at least take you to the farms….” Reason’s words fall off, and he spins to face me. “Nag, you can’t go to the Fortress. If the mob does run it, you’ll need firepower, money to barter with, and at the very least a guide to get out there.”
“I have Sway,” I say.
“Sway?” Reason rolls his eyes. “Bruth can’t even find his way out of his own clothes.”
“Insult noted,” Sway replies, then looks at me. “Glori, I think you should talk to Chia.”
I snort. “You mean Mayor Chia, who might have killed seven of our smartest fees yesterday and stolen my brother? Chia, who’s offering a sixty-thousand-dollar reward for me and Su? Who’s planning an entire reunification that fees haven’t agreed to?”
“Chia didn’t kill any fees,” Reason interrupts. “The mob killed your fees. And the mayor only offered that huge reward to guarantee you’d be brought in safe. Chia’s one of the good guys.”
“Right,” Sway says. “If we tell him where your brother is, we wouldn’t even need to leave this building. Everybody would win. You’d get your brother back. Chia would get in the good graces of the fees. Neither of us would be murdered by the mob.”
Reason is devouring his thumb cuticle. “Unfortunately, he kind of has a point.”
Before I can answer, a door slams open in the outer office.
“Boys?” a voice booms. “Today is a good day.”
Reason’s pack of dogs tumbles off the cot. Nails scraping, they run into the other room.
“Not today, you damn mutts,” the same voice bellows.
Moments later, they’re all back with their tails between their legs. I peek through the beaded doorway. Even if I hadn’t seen him on Sway’s television, I’d still know this was the mayor. Never mind the frizzy salt-and-pepper hair that crackles off his head like he’s been electrocuted. Only someone with a world of responsibility on their shoulders can look that weary. Grand wears a similar countenance all the time.
Chia stretches, then sits at the sole proper desk in the room and kicks his feet up.
And then? He starts whistling.
“You’re in a good mood.” Quarry sits on the corner of Chia’s desk as the mayor pulls two crystal rocks glasses from his bottom drawer along with a decanter of brown liquid.
“Why shouldn’t I be? All these years, I’ve been trying to figure out the one thing that would make Matricula come back to us without resorting to force. And then this morning we find out she’s been hiding a kid. The terrible and vicious mob reacts.” He says this with mock horror. “And now self-righteousness is our ally. Terror our common adversary. Safety and enforcement our bargaining chips. And guess who PTTs me this afternoon? Apparently, Matricula Rhodes is ready to talk. Fees will be swarming over here in no time.”
“And all it took were some murdered nags and a kidnapped child,” Quarry says, eyeing the mayor as he accepts a glass of liquor from him.
“Exactly.” Chia laughs, throwing back his drink. “I should have good-cop-bad-copped her years ago.”
Sway holds me back. I shrug off his grip and glare at him, then at Reason. This was who they thought I should ask for help? But the Influencer is so focused on his screens, I might as well not be in the room.
“Reason, you awake back there?” the mayor shouts.
“Oh, he’s awake,” the male with lip braid
s says. “Your boy has company.”
“He does, does he? Well, stop twiddling your diddles…”
“That is not what we’re doing,” Reason mutters, and sighs.
“…and get me eyes on the herd.”
With a glance at me that would be guilty if it wasn’t so self-righteous, Reason swipes at the top right holoscreen. It zooms in on fixed grainy footage of a familiar-looking neighborhood. One house, with its long front porch, stands out in particular. Grand told me she and Liyan broke down the shutters and garden shed for firewood our first few years there, but they left the porch alone because we deserved one nice thing in our lives. I’ve missed that porch every day since we moved. I grew up in that house. That’s the neighborhood. Where all the fees live.
Those aren’t grainy photos hanging on the wall in the office. Drones didn’t snap them. They’re video stills. Telling from the footage, there are six cameras total. Three on traffic lights. The rest on businesses along Whitehaven Road. Having watched Reason navigate his way around Buffalo via traffic cams, I can’t say I’m surprised. Maybe appalled is the better word.
“All these years, the beasts have been watching us?”
“Whoa,” Sway says. “That is messed up.”
“No,” Reason replies. “Apparently, that is survival of the fittest.”
The herd.
Chia means us. Like we’re sheep.
“It looks normal,” Reason calls out. “Except they have four— no, five nags up on rooftops. Light weaponry. Bows and arrows. Two homemade spears.”
This is our protocol during a beast-attack drill. Some fees guard the riverbanks. Some hide along the roads and some go up on roofs with long-range weapons. It always seemed efficient to me, but I can tell from the males’ snorts that five is a ridiculous number of sentries. Considering all the males’ guns, our bows and arrows are a ridiculous type of weaponry.
I peer at the screen. “Reason, zoom in.”
Is that… Grandma Lucy? She does most of the baking for the neighborhood. On another rooftop, I’m certain I see Grandma Aruun. She likes to DJ at our block parties. Why would Grand put such elderly fees on guard duty? What would they do if beasts attacked? Overload them with carbs and killer beats?
“Reason.” I jostle his chair. “How are you so certain it was the mob that killed our fees? Do you have footage of the invasion?”
“Yeah,” he says hesitantly. “But I don’t think you want to see it.”
“Didn’t I just specifically ask to see it?” I snap. Still smarting from his survival-of-the-fittest comment, I add, “I’m not some weak thing.”
“Fine,” he says shortly. “It’s your emotional funeral.”
With one swipe, it’s suddenly early morning on-screen in Grand Island. The footage is from far away, yet it’s easy to see the two beasts that run down the center of Whitehaven Road. The scarring on their faces is apparent even from this distance. Reason was right. Mob. One kicks in the door at Ruth’s house. The other runs farther up the block and shatters a window at LaVaughn’s. Both beasts come back out moments later. Calm. Collected. But hurried. One goes into a house a few doors down. The other cuts down a side street.
When Liyan told us beasts raided the neighborhood, I’d imagined chaos. Randomness. I imagined doors being smashed down. Wild gunfire.
This looks planned.
“I’m so sorry,” Sway says.
Ruth’s family now races out of the house, weapons drawn. Down the block, a beast pushes Josie Baker out into the street, a gun to her back. Her cohabitators follow, all armed with knives and crowbars. Sway lets out a cry of distress. Reason quickly presses the fast-forward button. Growing up, I went to Josie Baker’s house whenever Grand worked late. I still dream about her zucchini bread. She said it was seasoned with a little love and a lot of elbow grease. My eyes fill with tears. Reaching over Reason, I press play.
On-screen, Josie Baker’s body hits the ground. A moment later, the mobster falls next to her. An arrow impaling his head. A short, thick fee comes on-screen. She is dressed in a formfitting uniform. It looks dark gray in the footage, but I know it’s still a vibrant scarlet. Never mind that it’s patched in more places than it isn’t. She wears a balaclava, a face mask that I have never seen her without. A skull is drawn on the front. A long bow and satchel of arrows is slung across her back.
As Josie Baker’s family cries over her body, the fee in red places a foot on the beast’s head and yanks the arrow out.
“Who is that?” Reason asks.
“Muerte,” I murmur. “She’s one of our EMSs.”
“That’s ironic.” Sway coughs a little. “A paramedic named Muerte.”
Except EMS doesn’t stand for Emergency Medical Services. It stands for Elite Murder Squad. In Spanish, muerte means death. I think that’s a perfectly appropriate name considering Muerte is a mercenary, one of our most elite soldiers.
Grand Mati formed the squad after the first time beasts attacked us on our island, leaving violence and heartache in their wake. And yet it has returned to our door regardless. And Mayor Chia’s in a good mood.
“Stetson,” Chia barks out in the office. “What the hell did you get into?”
With Slim in my hand, I go back to the doorway. A male in a cowboy hat is now present. He has a rifle slung across his back and a red blistered rash on his arms.
“Don’t know,” Stetson says, studying his forearms. “I went drinking in the tunnels last night and today I woke up with this. I’m itchier than a wool sweater. Probably contagious, too.”
Grinning, he scratches the sores right over Quarry, who swears and pushes him away.
“Well, I kind of need my security chief not to infect the entire team right before we bring the fees over. Get to the medic and see if he’s got anything that helps… that. Everyone else,” Chia shouts to the room at large, “it’s time for the finishing blow. Quarry, cut their power and any feeds you think they might still use. Put double security along the bridge and waterfront. Give them food and water to hand out. Get DMX on the bullhorn telling the nags we offer peace and protection. I want them to feel the mistake they’re making, keeping their daughters there.”
I look at Reason. “Chia’s one of the good guys, huh?”
“Yeah, well.” The shock in his eyes is so palpable, I look away. “Color me disappointed.”
“And if one of you doesn’t find me those runaway fees in the next hour,” Chia shouts, “I’ll string you all up by your johnsons and feed you to the dogs. I want no loose ends on this. Check the transports. The clubs. The sex dens. They are here somewhere. Probably right under our got-damn noses. Find them!”
“Maybe we should go,” Sway says.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Reason replies. “And that says a lot. We’ll go out the back.”
“No,” I say. “We’ll go out the back. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not sabotaging you. Only trying to get you to the station in one piece. If anyone spots us, being with the Influencer will buy you a few minutes of protection. It’s the least I can do.”
“Great, thank you,” Sway says before I can protest further.
From a metal lockbox in the top drawer of his desk, Reason takes out two blue raffle tickets from a pile of various colored ones. Grabbing his crutch, he then hops to his feet and takes a leash off a hook on the wall. The dogs immediately swarm him. Ignoring them, he uses his crutch to pull a hover board out from under his desk, then slings a backpack over one shoulder.
“Carrot, Mastodon, Eggnog, to me.”
The three biggest dogs gather around Reason. He clicks the leash attachments to each of their collars while I scoop up the puppy. As soon as Reason steps on his hover board, his dogs lurch forward. When we emerge back into the common room it’s cleared out by half. Chia is spinning one of the empty crystal glasses on his desk.
We move to a back door. As Reason’s hand touches the doorknob, Chia lifts his head.
“Didn’t you think I’d notice?” he says.
I freeze.
“What’s that?” Reason asks.
“You don’t say goodbye anymore when you go out?”
“Like anything I say matters,” Reason says over his shoulder.
Chia lets out a hollow belt of laughter. “You think I don’t listen, huh? ‘Bump the matriarchy. Bump future generations. We’re happy with the way things are. Nags would cramp our style.’ I hear you loud and clear, Reason. I just don’t agree with you. Life looks a lot different when there’s less of it in front of you. And when we save the human race, I don’t think future generations will be too picky about what methods we used to do it or who our allies were.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Reason asks as Sway pales.
Chia spins his glass. It skids perilously close to the edge of the desk. He catches it a moment before it plummets to the floor.
“It means you might not like me right now, but one day you’ll thank me.”
Reason shakes his head. “Keep telling yourself that.”
The moment we’re out the door Reason’s dogs pull him forward on his hover board at such a fast clip that Sway and I have to jog to keep up. It’s like they can sense his fury.
“You know what I always wonder?” Sway asks, puffing as we trot down a service corridor. “How come no one ever says: ‘Let the fees have what they want’? Like the supplies and power and stuff. I mean, y’all have spent the last seventeen years on an island. Why doesn’t anyone ever say, ‘Maybe we should leave them alone to have their cake and eat it, too’? Oh my bump nuggets. What’s he doing here?”
At first, I don’t understand the transition. But that’s because I’m looking at the ground. When I look up (and up and up) it’s to find that we’ve popped out from our little service hall into the main promenade. To our left, Rage is about to enter Euphoria.
“Here for Chia,” he tells the bouncer.
Seeing as we’ve just dashed out into the open with three dogs not ten feet away from him, there is no not seeing us. But then Rage does a double take and sees us.