by Sam Clark
Yes, everyone looked away, not wanting to be caught sharing a look with Czarina the lesbian rapist. Everyone, that is, except Isabella. When their eyes met, Isabella didn’t look away. The longer she held Czarina’s gaze, the more Czarina was tempted to break eye contact. She didn’t want her sister to be tainted. Some protector she’d be if she got Isabella ostracized like herself. Isabella would be safe if nobody talked to her, but she wouldn’t be happy. Isabella was too much of an extrovert to be alone like Czarina. Isabella never lost herself in a book for hours; she was always off with friends. Still, Czarina couldn’t bring herself to look away. She was afraid it might make her look guilty. The one thing she wouldn’t be able to bear would be for her sister to think she had done it, so she held Isabella’s gaze.
Then Isabella smiled at her, and Czarina got nervous. It was the same grin Czarina had whenever she was about to do or say something she probably shouldn’t. Of course, when Czarina did it, it was delightfully charming, but now that it was Isabella who was doing it, it was just irritating, and a little terrifying.
Isabella finally looked away. Czarina thought it was because Steve—who was sitting across from Isabella with his back to Czarina—had said something to her. He probably wants to know what the hell she’s grinning at.
Suddenly, Isabella was saying something, and she wasn’t smiling anymore. She was scowling. Czarina became increasingly nervous, wishing she could hear what her sister was saying, wishing she could somehow stop her from saying it.
Isabella stood up.
Steve said, “Sit,” loud enough for Czarina to hear.
Czarina rose to her feet, not sure exactly what she intended to do.
Then Isabella said, “No!” loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear.
Half-standing, Steve reached across the table and grabbed Isabella’s arm, as if he intended to make her sit down. Isabella tried to twist her arm loose. The red and blue hand-shaped bruise on Marisa’s wrist flashed in Czarina’s mind, and the next thing she knew she was hopping over the table. She turned back to grab her tray, sending the rest of her porridge sliding onto the table and floor.
As she came up behind Steve, someone yelled, “Look out!” Czarina thought it was Tim, or maybe Tom. Either way, it was too late for Steve.
The tray crashed into the side of Steve’s face with a clunk just as he turned to look and see what was happening. He collapsed to the floor in a heap, and she brought the tray down on his head again, and then again. The force of the blows bent the tray to nearly a ninety-degree angle. She tossed it aside and dropped to straddle the semi-conscious Steve. She noted with some satisfaction the greenish-yellow bruising on Steve’s nose and under his eyes from their earlier encounter. However, she didn’t admire her previous handiwork for long. From her mounted position, she began raining hammer-fisted strikes down on Steve’s face.
Kill him! Kill him! He has to die. If you don’t kill him right fucking now, he’ll kill you later, Czarina. Kill him now, and Isabella is safe once and for all.
She had no idea how many times she struck him. Her hands and clothes were streaked with his blood, her arms felt like she’d just done a hundred pushups, and her fists were starting to hurt. But she kept going. Breaking her hands to pieces would be a small price to pay.
Then, as suddenly as the fight began, it was over.
She felt a vise snap shut on each of her shoulders, and then she was being pulled from Steve and dragged away as if she weighed no more than a feather. The powerful hands spun her around, and she found herself face to face with Sergeant Fegan. She looked Fegan straight in the eye. Unlike most of her classmates, the sergeant had no problem meeting her gaze. She was shocked to see that Fegan was smiling. She had no idea why he was so amused, but it couldn’t be good.
“You’ve gone and done it now, dipshit,” Fegan said, with a slight tremor in his voice.
He’s either extremely angry or extremely happy. I think he’s happy. Did I kill Steve? Why would that make Fegan happy? “Did I kill him?”
“Huh? What? No, you idiot. He’s hurt.” Fegan looked past her for a second. “Like as not, even worse than you were. But dead? You ain’t that tough, bruiser.”
She looked back and could see Steve’s left leg twitching, and his chest rising slightly at regular intervals. She watched as Corporal Vance rolled Steve onto his side and began wiping the blood from his face with a rag. Another failure.
She turned back to Fegan. “Then what the fuck are you so happy about?”
“You know what, St. John, I won’t even make you do the pushups for swearing. I’m happy because I was right. I told Mueller the training would break a woman. Now they’ll lock you up, and I won’t have to deal with your shit. Ever again. Or any other bitch who doesn’t know her place, for that matter.”
Unbroken, Czarina stared back at Fegan, her face a mask of indifference. She shrugged. She had no idea what he meant by locking her up, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking.
Fegan’s smile diminished a bit at her subdued reaction, but it returned quickly. “Maybe you don’t know. There’s a brig, St. John. It’s a teeny-tiny room. Five by five. It hasn’t ever been used. No one’s ever done something to merit more than work detail. Until now. What are you, five-eight? Think about it. You won’t even be able to stretch all the way out when you sleep. I hope you don’t grow any more.” He laughed at his own joke, a hateful, mirthless-sounding thing.
She looked at Fegan, unblinking, and said, “Unless, of course, I sleep diagonally… sir.”
She could see the wheels turning in Fegan’s head as he stopped laughing and his smile gradually began to falter. At what she could only assume was the moment he figured it out, it became a deep frown. A smile of pure joy touched her lips, and she didn’t try to suppress it.
“Nothing you can say is going to ruin this for me!” Fegan punctuated his statement by poking Czarina in the middle of her chest. “We’re going to lock you up and throw away the key.”
She laughed. “I hate to break it to you, sarge, but somebody locked us all up and threw away the key a long fucking time ago.”
TWENTY-ONE
Location: Underground
Date: 9-7-61
Czarina was surprised that Sergeant Fegan took her directly to the brig. The protocol outlined in the militia handbook dictated that a major breach of discipline was to be brought to the immediate attention of the major’s office. Yet here she sat. How long had it been? A few hours, at least. I wonder if Fegan told anybody I’m in here? If he didn’t, how long am I likely to rot before somebody comes looking? A day? Maybe two? Definitely not longer. Everybody at breakfast saw him drag me off.
Despite her earlier bravado, she was starting to wonder just how long she could be locked in the brig with nothing to do before she went insane. It wasn’t exactly a long trip to begin with, and judging by how bored she was after only a few hours, she doubted it would take long. She tried to entertain herself by doing some pushups and crunches, and then decided exercise might not be the best way to distract herself, considering that she had no idea when she might get some water and that her headache was back.
Truth be told, the room in and of itself was fine. In fact, in terms of total area, it was probably slightly larger than her private nook in her family’s room, which was a bit longer but more narrow. And this room had an actual door, which was a big plus. Of course, there was no knob on the inside, which was decidedly a negative. So that was a wash. The one real disadvantage was the lack of a cot; while the cots were uncomfortable in the extreme, they were still infinitely better than the concrete floor. On the plus side, the one piece of furniture the room did contain was a bio-waste bucket. Other than that, it was the same as any other room: gray from floor to ceiling, dim fluorescent lighting.
With exercise out of the equation, her next attempt to entertain herself was making shadow puppets against the wall. She could remember a few her mother—or was it James?—ha
d taught her when she was a kid: rabbit, goose, dog. She was in the process of making the dog eat the rabbit when she heard someone outside her door. She jumped quickly to her feet. Best to meet her fate, whatever it might be, standing.
Of all the people she had expected to see—Fegan, Erickson, Mueller, James—Private Lindsey Bruster was not one of them. The private was a short, thin woman just a few years older than Czarina, and while she’d never trained with the men as a recruit, now she was often invited in to demonstrate judo throws, to illustrate the importance of proper technique over brute force. “You’ve got a visitor, St. John,” the private said matter-of-factly.
“Apparently I’ve also got my own personal guard.”
“Yeah, lucky me. I get to stand at attention, staring at the wall for the next eight hours.”
“At least you didn’t get the overnight shift,” Czarina said with a smile.
“True enough. Anyway, make it quick. Sergeant Fegan didn’t exactly say you could have visitors.”
Czarina was intrigued. She wasn’t used to people doing her favors. “Not to ruin it or anything, but why?”
Bruster shrugged. “He didn’t say you couldn’t have visitors either. And I think Steve is a grade-A asshole who deserved what he got and then some.”
Bruster ducked out of the doorway and an instant later Isabella flew into the room and threw her arms around Czarina. After a few awkward seconds—Czarina couldn’t remember the last time she’d hugged her sister—Czarina returned her sister’s embrace. When Isabella finally let go, Czarina could see that her sister was crying. Isabella tried to hide it by looking away and quickly rubbing her face against her sleeve.
She decided to ignore Isabella’s tears for the moment and steer their conversation to what she thought would be a safe topic. “What time is it?”
“What time is it? That’s all you have to say to me after what happened at breakfast?”
Czarina had no clue what she was supposed to say, so she said nothing.
Isabella shook her head and wiped another tear from her eye. “I swear, Rina, for somebody so smart, you can be really dumb. It’s oh-seven-thirty, by the way.”
“Holy shit, I’ve only been here like an hour?”
“Time flies when you’re having fun. I came here to thank you, by the way… and to say I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to thank me for, and even less to be sorry about.”
“Just shut up and listen, will you?”
Czarina nodded her agreement.
“What you did for me at breakfast meant a lot—not that I needed your help.” Isabella shook her head. “No, I did need your help. Steve’s not a good person, and I should have listened when you tried to tell me. I’m also sorry…” She took a deep breath, then blurted, “For a second, I believed Steve about what happened with Marisa. Just for a second. As soon as I thought about it, I knew you couldn’t’ve done what he said. I don’t know why I didn’t tell him to go to hell right after, but I didn’t, and I’m sorry. It’s probably because he’s one good-looking creep.” Isabella laughed.
Czarina rolled her eyes. I guess beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. She paused for a moment to consider what her sister had said, then replied, “If I’d been a better sister, paid attention to you, been there for you instead of so lost in my own head, maybe you wouldn’t have believed him, even for a second. And from now on, assuming I ever get out of this room, I’ll be there for you. That’s a promise. In other words, you’re welcome, and apology accepted. Now that’s enough feelings talk.”
Isabella wrapped her arms around Czarina again. This time Czarina returned the hug immediately.
When Isabella let go, she said, “Pop-Pop said to tell you not to worry. He said he has wheels in motion, and he’ll get you out. He kept saying that over and over—’we’ll get her out.’”
“I hope you’re right, because sitting in this room is not as easy as I thought it would be, at least not without a book.”
“Oh, that reminds me.” Isabella reached into her left cargo pocket and pulled out a worn paperback Czarina immediately recognized as Plato’s Republic. “Pop-Pop also said you should get some work done while you’re in here.”
Czarina laughed and took the book. “Tell him thanks.”
Isabella’s right hand reached up to her necklace of quarters, and she started tugging on it gently, making the coins clink together softly.
“What’s up, Izzy?”
“How do you know something’s up?”
“Necklace.”
Isabella dropped the necklace with a sigh. “I gotta work on that. Pop-Pop told me not to say anything.”
“Maybe you should listen to James a little less.”
“Maybe you should listen to him a little more.”
“So, are you going to tell me or not?” Czarina folded her arms across her chest and tried to fix Isabella with a stare she hoped approximated Mueller’s.
Isabella crossed her arms and stared right back.
“Fine, don’t tell me,” Czarina said.
“Well, he told me not to tell you after your concussion. But you’re better now, so I guess it’s okay. The light keeps going off!”
Czarina tried to keep the excitement from her voice. “Wait—is it flashing, or just going off?”
“I don’t think it’s flashing. They change it, and then it goes out a day or two later. I found out from… well, from Steve. He said three more bulbs have gone out this week. And his dad is real nervous and fighting a lot with the other officers about it.”
“Huh, that’s weird. Is anybody doing anything about it? Are they talking about going aboveground?”
“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. Steve didn’t say anything about that, but he did say they wanted to keep it hush-hush. And you know as well as I do how long it’s been since an exit drill.”
“What did James say about it?”
“That’s another weird thing. When I mentioned it, he just shrugged and said not to tell you, then he changed the subject. That’s not all either—Pop-Pop has been acting strange.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. James always acts strange.” Czarina didn’t want to give voice to her own concerns. She didn’t want to spoil the moment, and she figured Isabella had enough on her plate right then. They could deal with it later.
“He’s being strange even for him. He’s forgetting things. And the other night, I had a bad dream, and when I went to see if he was up, he was gone. When he finally came back, and I asked where he went, he said old men cannot go eight hours without peeing.”
“He is old, Isabella, and he’s right, they can’t.”
“He was gone for thirty minutes, Rina, and who knows how long he was gone before I woke up?”
“I can ask him about it when I see him, but I don’t know if he’ll tell me anything different.”
“No, don’t worry about it. I feel better just having talked about it. I should get going. I’m supposed to meet with Colonel Mueller and Major Erickson about what happened at oh-nine-thirty.” Isabella made a face like she was about to gag, then continued, “And Pop-Pop wants to talk to me about what I’m going to say.”
“All right. Before you go, how’s your arm?”
“Oh, it’s fine. He didn’t grab me too hard,” Isabella said as she pulled up her sleeve to reveal her wrist. “Not even a bruise.”
“Good. I’m glad you stopped by, Izzy.”
“Me too.” Isabella threw her arms around Czarina one more time before banging on the door. A few seconds later Private Bruster opened the door for Isabella, leaving Czarina alone with her thoughts. And Plato.
TWENTY-TWO
Location: Maize City
Date: 9-10-61
Preston stood with Austin just outside the chalked circle, about fifteen yards in diameter, where Edison and Thoka would fight. Surrounding the circle were four sets of rickety wooden bleachers that shot up toward the sky. He w
asn’t sure how many people were crammed into them, and they were still filling, but it was easily in the high thousands. Perhaps as many as ten thousand, once they jammed everyone in. Edison’s annual challenge had quickly become the biggest happening in the Free Counties.
Preston was immensely thankful that his relationship to the challenger got him a spot on the edge of the circle, as opposed to being in the stands. Aside from the obvious safety issue, there was the smell. Even standing a good ten feet away from the first row, the smell of sweat mixed with god only knew what else was nearly overpowering. He didn’t want to imagine what it was like in the heart of the crowd. He placed a perfumed handkerchief over his nose and inhaled the citrus scent deeply. Kathy’s scent.
She had refused to come, saying someone had to stay home and take care of their child. Edison’s suggestion that Roger attend went over poorly to say the least, providing Preston with one of the few enjoyable moments he’d had since finding out Gunner was still alive.
Inside the circle, Edison was warming up with Bear, running through his sword forms, much to the delight of the gathered mob. The female voices seemed particularly pleased with Edison’s form. More than one woman had yelled for Edison to bury his sword in them, or some similarly crass euphemism.
With the fight scheduled to begin in a quarter-hour, Thoka was still nowhere to be seen. As Edison and Bear’s motions carried them further away from where Preston was standing, he asked Austin without turning, “So, how do you think it will play out?”
“Truth?”
That was enough for Preston to guess Austin’s answer, but he wanted details. “Yes, always.”
“Thoka wins.”
“I assumed that would be your answer, but I want to know why you think Thoka will win, and how he’ll do it.”
“Well, it’s like I said a while back. Edison’s got the technique, but Thoka has everything else, including the patience. That’s really the most important thing. If your brother could be cautious, a quick combination, then disengage, rest, force Thoka to initiate the attack, then maybe he’d have a chance. That’d put his superior technique to the best use anyhow. But there’s the rub—Thoka is the most patient fighter I’ve ever seen, his fight with your father being the exception. Most guys in a fight for their lives get antsy, feel they should do something to save their lives. The problem is, that ‘something’ often has the opposite effect—gets ’em killed. Not Thoka. He just waits, absorbs pressure, and then when the adrenaline’s all spent in his opponent, he turns the tide on ’em, and they can’t even begin to handle his speed and strength.