by Josh Hayes
"Come on," one older man with gray hair shouted, arms outstretched, trying to usher people away. "You don't want to be here when Enforcement shows up!"
"Get them, they've got to have some kind of reward," a woman shouted, though the people around her were trying to pull her back into the masses.
"Are you crazy? They'll kill us just for being near her," the gray-haired man shouted.
"Kill them!"
"Get back!"
"Pan," Ace said, voice urgent.
"I know," he said, considering the crowd. "I just—"
"Hey," a boy said, jogging up to them. He leaned over on his knees and looked at Mary's unconscious body. "She okay?"
"Stay away from her," Wendy said, taking a step toward him.
The boy straightened. He couldn't have been but a couple of years older than Maggie, if that. Messy red hair hung down over his eyes. His clothes, obviously too big for him, were torn and dirty.
He held his hands up. "Hey, easy, no worries, okay? Need help getting away from the masses, eh?"
Wendy frowned at him, then gave Pan a questioning look.
He stood. "You know a way out of here?"
"Sure do, just that way." He pointed up the street.
Pan seemed to hesitate for a moment, glancing at the crowd, then back at their little group.
The boy seemed to pick up on Pan's reluctance. "Tunnels go for miles," he said, then jerked a thumb at the crowd. "These shits couldn't find their way through them if the Graft showed them."
Finally, Pan grinned. "What's your name, kid?"
"Carter," the boy said, returning Pan's smile.
It's infectious, Wendy thought, realizing she too was smiling.
"Okay, let's go. Ace, can you and Carter carry her?" Pan motioned to Mary's unconscious body.
"Yeah," Ace said, and moved up to pick her up.
The boy smiled, his teeth crooked and discolored. "Sure thing."
"Wait!" Wendy almost screamed. "My father! He's still in there. I can't leave him here."
Before she knew what she was doing, she was ducking back into the smoking wreck, climbing through the cabin. She ignored the blood and gore on the floor this time and moved right up between the two seats. Lightly, she touched him on the shoulder, praying he'd wake up to her touch.
He didn't.
George Darling sat, eyes closed, leaning forward against his harness. The pistol he'd used to shoot the pilot was on the floor between his feet. His clothes and skin had been sprayed with blood.
"Daddy?" she said, her voice trembling.
She felt a slight movement and repeated herself, feeling a sliver of hope work its way into her. "Can you hear me?"
She almost jumped out of her skin as bloody fingers slid overtop her own. She almost collapsed in relief. "Daddy!"
His voice was barely audible, but she could still hear the agony in it.
"Wendy," he whispered. "You're okay?"
Tears streamed down her face. "Yes, Daddy, I'm okay. So are Mom and Maggie. We're all okay. A boy is helping us." She reached down and started fumbling with his harness. "Come on, we have to go."
A hand stopped her. "Wait, stop."
Wendy shook her head, confused. "No, we can't wait. We have to go, people are after us, remember? We have to go now."
George coughed, spraying fresh blood over the control terminal in front of him. "I…I don't think I'm going anywhere, little one."
"I don't," Wendy frowned. White-hot fear blazed inside her. "What do you mean? You have to come!"
Her father looked at her, eyes pleading, then reluctantly lifted his jacket away from the right side of his body. Wendy gasped, hands shooting up to cover her mouth. A jagged piece of metal protruded from the side of his abdomen, just below his chest. The shirt around it was stained a dark crimson.
Wendy felt her legs weaken slightly, and tightened her grip on the seat. "Oh, no, no, no. Daddy, no, you're going to be all right." She reached down for the harness again. "We just need to get you out of there."
He stopped her again. "Wendy, you have to go."
She shook her head. "No, Dad, no, I won't leave you here, I won't."
A loud crack reverberated through the cabin as sparks shot out behind them. Wendy ducked.
"You have to," George said, looking at her with a fierce determination. "You have to take care of your mother and sister."
He coughed again, sending tiny droplets of blood into the air. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth and down over his jaw.
Wendy sniffed. "I don't know how, please, you're supposed to take care of us. Come on, you have to get up." She pulled on him and he cried out in pain, his face contorting.
"Ugh!" he cried out. "No, honey, don't. I'm sorry, sweetheart, I couldn't get you home. I'm sorry."
"No. No, you're going to be okay, we'll figure out a way to get you out."
Her father put a hand on hers. "Wendy."
"Just hold on, we'll get you out. We'll find a way."
"Wendy," he said again, as caringly and as lovingly as he'd ever spoken to her, bloodstained fingers reaching up to touch her face. "I want you to promise me something, okay?"
Tears blurred vision. "No, I can't."
"Yes, you can. I need you to promise that you'll take care of your mother and your sister no matter what, okay? Can you promise me that, Wendy? Promise me you'll try to get them home."
She couldn't hold back any longer. She started crying, dropping her head to his shoulder. "Daddy, I…"
"Shhh, it's going to be okay. You always were the brave one. Always the one I could count on. I know you can do this, Wendy. I know you can."
He coughed, and this time his entire body convulsed with the effort. "You have to go, Wendy."
Slowly, she brought her eyes up to meet his and took his hand in hers. Her body quivered and she attempted to get a full breath, and failed. With her whole world crumbling around her, she had no idea what she was supposed to do. "I'm scared."
"I know you are, sweetheart, but it's going to be ok—" Another coughing fit came over him. He grimaced in pain. After it passed, he said, "You know she's not as strong as you are, her or your mother. You're going to have to take care of them. They need you, now more than ever."
"I, I don't know if I can," Wendy whispered, shaking her head.
"I know you can. You're the bravest girl I know, Wendy, and the smartest. You'll find a way, I know you will."
He coughed again, bringing up more blood. "I love you, Wendy. I love you very much."
She reached out and touched his face, her fingers drawing thin lines of red across his cheeks. She leaned in and pressed her forehead against his. "I love you, too, Daddy. So much."
George Darling pulled his daughter close one last time and held her. He whispered in her ear, "I love you more than anything else in the world, and you…"
His last words faded as his breath gave out and Wendy felt his hand relax. She leaned back and squeezed his hand. Her heart raced as her entire body started to tremble.
"Daddy? No, Daddy, no! Please, please, wake up."
For the second time that night, Wendy's legs betrayed her. She slumped to the floor and pushed her forehead into his hand. "Come back. Please, come back. Please, Daddy. I love you."
Grief overtook her then, and she sobbed freely, tears running down her face, dripping on her pants below. Again, she lost track of space and time, knowing only her pain and sorrow and anguish. But, strangely, as she sat there on the cold floor, those thoughts and feelings began to fade away, replaced by others she didn't expect. They rose from somewhere deep inside and washed over her like a hot shower. An unexplainable rage filled her, the force of which she'd never felt before.
The time for tears is over, a voice inside her said. Her father's voice, confident and unwavering.
She clenched her teeth together and wiped the tears from her eyes.
As she sat there, his hand cupped tightly in hers, the hate continued to well up within her.
Hatred for the men who'd brought her here. Hatred for those who'd taken her family from their home and paraded them around like cattle. Hatred for the men who'd taken her away from everything she'd ever known and loved.
"I promise," she said, then kissed her father's hand.
Chapter Five
Then
The days following Wendy's violent arrival in this world were a blur: a constant rotation of hiding places accompanied by scavenged meals and sleepless nights. She'd lost track of how many places they'd stayed in, and didn't care to remember her last meal. Wendy desperately wanted a shower, even to just jump in the river, anything to get the grime off that seemed to permeate through her entire being.
It wasn't until the second week that Wendy finally began to have meaningful conversations again. But even those had seemed to blur together as the days went by. It was almost a competition between Ace and Peter to see who could tell her the most in a day, and even though Peter never seemed to have anything importation to say, Wendy liked listening to him the best. His voice calmed her, and his eyes were the most beautiful things she'd ever seen. Gazing into them, Wendy lost herself.
Gunshots rang out in the distance and Wendy jumped, almost dropping her plate to the cold, dusty floor. Her eyes instantly shot to the window, where the afternoon sun cut beams through dusty air. The initial blast was followed up by several more, then silence.
How long until they're shooting at us? she thought, adjusting her position on the floor and leaning back against the wall.
Next to her, Carter took a bite of his sandwich and said, "Graft, they don't ever stop, do they?"
Peter caught Wendy's look and seemed to see the worry in her eyes. "Oh, don't worry about those, they're at least five, six miles away. Probably out in the middle of Oldtown."
"I wasn't worried," Wendy told him, trying to force herself to look more confident than she felt.
"Course you weren't." He stood, leaning against the opposite wall in the small apartment, legs crossed, finishing his last bit of food. He tossed his empty plate at the boy. It bounced across the floor, landing several feet away from Carter.
He peered out through the window next to him for a few seconds, before turning away and taking a seat in the only chair in the room. "Probably just shooting at some gigrets."
Not that many shots, Wendy told herself, forcing herself not to roll her eyes. Peter had a habit of downplaying everything, to the point that she wondered if he actually believed what he was saying, or if he was just saying it to sound tough. Either way, it didn't matter. She kept her opinions to herself regardless.
Peter smiled at her, and before she could stop herself, she smiled back. Those green eyes of his seemed to sparkle brighter than anything she'd ever seen before in her life, and there was no getting away from them. Her heart fluttered in her chest as he winked at her, and she felt her cheeks flush. She desperately tried to come up with something to say, but no words came. She felt a twinge of panic as he raised an eyebrow at her, obviously noticing her inner turmoil.
"Good dinner, Ace," Carter said, through a mouth full of sandwich.
Wendy let out a breath of relief. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and gave him a slight smile of thanks. He smiled back. She wondered if the look on his face meant that he knew what was going on inside her head, or if he was just politely returning the gesture.
"Hey, thanks, man," Ace replied, lifting his cup to him in salute. "My pleasure."
Peter leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. His infatuation with green had become more pronounced over the last few weeks; his new bright green shirt and matching pants had been quite the joke, until Peter had explained to Ace and Carter that his clothes weren't funny. They'd both hurriedly agreed with him.
"Could've used some cheese," Peter said.
Ace laughed. "Well, shit, next time lunch is on you."
"I didn't like them, either."
Everyone turned to Maggie, who was lying on her side, facing the wall on an old lumpy mattress. She'd curled up underneath a pastel yellow blanket, one of the only blankets they'd come across in the old tenement. Her sandwich was still on the plate next to her, a single bite missing from one corner.
Anger boiled inside Wendy's chest, and she fought back the urge to yell. Instead, she gave Pan an apologetic frown. He dismissed it with a wave of his hand.
Maggie didn't talk a lot, but when she did, it was almost always negative. At eight, Wendy couldn't expect her to understand what was going on around them, but she'd hoped by now she'd realized how hard they were all working to stay alive and keep her safe. After all, she'd promised.
"Tough crowd today," Ace said. "Maybe Chef Ace will just take a vacation, how's that?"
Carter turned from the window and looked at Ace with wide eyes, a piece of lettuce hanging from the side of his mouth. "Hey, I like your stuff." The little piece of lettuce fell free and dropped to the floor.
"Ah, the people have spoken," Ace said, arms spread wide.
Carter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Maybe some eggs tomorrow?"
"Now, this is more like it! Carter, the world needs more hungry souls like you. Damn straight, eggs are a fine choice." Ace mimed writing on a pad. "And how would you like those, sir?"
Carter grinned. "You know how."
"Eggs over destructed." He made a checkmark in the air with his finger. "Check."
Maggs groaned without turning away from the wall. "We just had eggs yesterday."
Wendy rolled her eyes. She opened her mouth to tell her off, but Carter cut her off.
"Yeah," Carter said, enthusiastically, "But they were great. I'm definitely down for more."
Wendy smiled at him. Such a peacekeeper, she thought. She'd gotten the impression over the last few weeks that Carter hadn't grown up in a three-meal-a-day home. Hell, he probably hadn't grown up in a one-meal-a-day home, if he'd had a home at all. But he had taken on the peacekeeping role of their little group almost from the start, and had smoothed out a fair number of arguments over the last several weeks. They were all stressed and hungry and scared, but shouting at each other wasn't going to solve anything.
Maggie sighed heavily and sat up. "I'm going to check on Mother."
Peter motioned to the door as Maggie disappeared into the other room. "What's eating her?"
Wendy shook her head, and raised a finger to her lips. Maggie hadn't adjusted well at all to their new situation. She barely spoke, speaking only to complain or demand that she wanted to go home. There had been several times when Wendy had wanted nothing more than to slap the negativity right out of her, but it wasn't her fault. She didn't understand this place any more than Wendy did. She was only eight, after all.
It was better not to talk about Maggie when she was around. Not only had she not adjusted well to their current situation, she was adamant that she wanted to go home and that she hated this new world they'd found themselves in. There were times when Wendy wished Maggie had resorted to their mother's way of coping: refusing to do just about anything.
After learning of her husband's death, Mary Darling had shut down, not speaking a word since. She'd barely eaten. In fact, the only time Wendy could get her to eat was when she forced her to.
Wendy's hope that eventually her mother would come around and return to her normal cheerful self quickly vanished. And the ache of sadness in her heart, longing for her mother's caring, protective touch, was quickly replaced by anger and frustration.
She wasn't ready to take care of her family like this. After losing her father, Wendy had desperately wanted someone to hold her, to reassure her, to love her. Back home, before this place, Mary would have been there, comforting and loving. Now, she just laid there, staring blankly at the ceiling. Wendy wondered if her mother would ever return.
An explosion in the distance interrupted the awkward silence that had fallen over them. Wendy glanced toward the only window in the room and saw only the dark shadow of the adjacen
t building.
"That's got to be out past the river," Carter said.
"Yeah, but they're getting closer," Ace said.
Wendy looked at Peter. "Do you think the clans will ever make it to Baytown?"
"Ha! That bunch of undisciplined assholes can barely find their way around Oldtown."
Wendy forced herself not to roll her eyes. Despite Peter's unwavering belief that the clans would never amount to anything, the fighting between them had been almost constant, and they were growing more and more dangerous as time went on. The Lost Boys—a ridiculous name, in Wendy's opinion—had done a fairly decent job of staying away from most of the fighting, using the abandoned infrastructure of the city to move and stay hidden. But even the city's shadows were becoming increasing risky.
With all the clans vying for control of various parts of the city, there weren't too many safe zones left. Most of Oldtown, the abandoned outermost portions of the city, was still empty wasteland, remaining home to several smaller clans and roving Duster Enclaves. Baytown, the core area along the coast, had been immediately locked down by Enforcement. And why not? That was where the money and power was, there wasn't any way they'd allow that to be taken over.
Midtown, however, where most of the working class in Barreen called home, was a different story. Token Enforcement patrols moved through the streets, there were even sentry posts scattered throughout the district, but by and large they were absent. Midtown had become the primary battleground for the clans looking to make a name for themselves.
They'd done a fairly decent job of staying in the shadows, restricting their movements to nighttime, changing locations every few days, though finding suitable locations to hide were becoming few and far between.
"They sure are moving through Midtown, though," Carter said.
Peter shook his head. "As long as Enforcement stays on top of things, I don't think the clans will ever have a chance at the Core. The Committee will stop at nothing to keep their precious port open. Not to mention the power station."
Ace dropped his own plate on the floor and lay back across the couch, propping his feet up on the end. "You know, I'd really like to know where they're getting all the new recruits. Everyone I've ever talked to said they hate Enforcement, even some on the Midtown/Baytown border. So what gives?"