Deprecated

by Michael Karr

  She arrived at her housing unit earlier than usual. It was already dark as night outside, even though it was early in the evening.

  Stowing her Harley in the alleyway, she entered the housing unit through the front door, and ascended the two flights of stairs to her floor, then paused at the door. What would she find? The Elect sitting at the table, eagerly awaiting her arrival? Perhaps she should enter through her bedroom window.

  Chiding herself for feeling nervous over an Elect, she unlocked the door and shoved it open. She stood on the threshold, taking in the empty kitchen. The apartment was silent. For a brief moment, she harbored the hope that he’d left, for good.

  She knocked on the bathroom door. No answer. Then she checked her grandfather’s room. Still no sign of the Elect. Her hopes began to swell. Perhaps she truly had managed to frighten him off. Breathing easier, she opened the door to her room so that she could retrieve her earpiece. She stopped just inside the threshold. On her bed lay the Elect, his mouth hanging wide open, his breath even and rhythmic. Asleep.

  Her primary instinct was to yell at him to get out of bed. Then she noticed something leaning against her makeshift desk that made her smile. Her rifle.

  SEVENTEEN

  Creeping as quietly as the wooden floorboards would allow, she made her way across her room. How had she forgotten about her rifle? She didn’t need a handgun to kill the Elect. Though a few of the floorboards betrayed her presence, the Elect didn’t stir. With her eyes fixed on his face, she slowly passed the cot, her cot. It disgusted her to see him sleep there. Even sleeping, he looked arrogant.

  The familiar cold metal of her rifle’s barrel felt good in her hands. Just to be armed again felt good. All day at work she’d furtively felt at the spot under her left arm where her pistol always hung. But it wasn’t there. Well, what she was about to do wasn’t going to help earn back her pistol. At that moment, she didn’t care.

  Turning around, she brought the stock of her rifle to her shoulder and aimed the barrel at the slumbering Elect. She didn’t peer through the scope. At this range, there was no point. Placing her finger on the trigger, she breathed out slowly. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  Unintentionally, she found herself studying the Elect’s features. His dark hair looked nearly black, and was cut short—an Elect’s haircut. His pale skin was slightly darker around his mouth and chin, as a new beard started to grow. His jawline lacked the strong, stone-carved lines that Preston’s face bore. Instead of a pronounced square jawline, the Elect’s narrowed gradually into a rounded chin. Soft. A face designed to lure in innocent girls. Just as his closed eyelids and drooping mouth were supposed to make her hesitate at shooting him.

  She gripped the rifle tighter with her left hand and began to squeeze the trigger.

  “You wouldn’t really shoot a man in his sleep, would you?” The voice made Rylee jump. It had come from the Elect. Though, his eyes were still shut. “Because, that would be just a tad on the rude side. Inhospitable, some might say.”

  “It’s also rude to sleep in someone else’s bed without asking first,” Rylee snorted.

  “I knew you wouldn’t mind. So, I didn’t bother.”

  He smiled, his eyes still closed. An urge to punch him squarely in the mouth surged inside her. How could he be so arrogant at a time like this?

  “Your grandfather’s going to be disappointed when he comes home and finds a bullet in my head.”

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “Let me just say, there’s no one I’d rather shoot me in my sleep than you. By the way, I unloaded your rifle while you were gone.”

  “What!”

  Rylee turned her rifle over and released the magazine. Empty. To be sure, she pulled back the rifle’s bolt. No round ejected. She cursed.

  For the first time, the Elect opened his eyes and sat up, still smiling. “I took the liberty of unloading it about an hour ago, when I got up to go to the loo. You know, it’s dangerous to leave a loaded firearm lying around like that.”

  Ignoring him, Rylee went to her desk and opened the rusted metal toolbox where she kept her extra munition. It was empty. Whirling around, she pointed the rifle at the Elect.

  “What did you do with it?” she demanded.

  “You do realize that rifle is still not loaded, right?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I just point it out because you seem to think I should be afraid of it.” He smirked, drawing in his lips.

  “Just tell me what you did with my ammo.”

  “You know, I think you should work on your negotiation skills. Because, you see, I feel like—as foolish as this may sound—that it wouldn’t be in my best interest to comply with that demand.”

  He smirked again.

  “And you’re not making me want to shoot you any less.”

  That wasn’t the only ammo in the apartment. Her grandfather had his own cache of them, hidden. There were some .308 rounds in there, she knew. If she could find them. She stomped toward the door. Before she reached it, she heard a sound that made her halt midstep. A second later, she heard the door to the apartment squeak open, followed by the heavy footfall of boots. Her grandfather.

  She frowned and spun back around. “Today, you got lucky.”

  “As fun as this little game of yours is for me,” he said, “I’d be happy to tell your grandfather about it.” He smiled broadly. “I’m sure he’d love to hear about it, too.”

  Too annoyed to respond, Rylee deposited her rifle back in its place, then walked out to greet her grandfather.

  Rylee ate her dinner that evening mostly in silence. She didn’t feel like talking, especially with that Elect around. Grayson. Her grandfather called him Grayson. That bothered her. The way the two sat there chatting and laughing like friends…He was the enemy. Why couldn’t her grandfather see that? Not only was Grayson sitting at their table, talking, but he was eating their food. Food which they were in short supply of. Food of which there was not enough to spare.

  Besides the fact that he was an Elect, what aggravated her the most about having him there is she felt like a babysitter. She couldn’t go anywhere, because she didn’t trust him alone with her grandfather. She needed to go to Serghei’s to check on Feng. And the crew needed to plan their next move to find out who was behind the recent murders. Because if they didn’t, her grandfather would be Deprecated in a matter of weeks.

  Just after dinner, as it always did, the electricity shut off.

  “I’ll go get the lantern,” her grandfather said. His chair squeaked against the floor in the darkness.

  “Is this a normal occurrence for you?” Grayson asked. He sounded surprised.

  Rylee rolled her eyes, even though no one could see her do it. Of course, Grayson was oblivious to this fact. He probably had electricity flowing every minute of the day, pipes bursting with heated waters, a bed piled with soft blankets, and an endless supply of food—fresh food, not expired cans of beans and corn.

  “Electricity’s regulated here,” her grandfather said. “This time of year, we get about two hours a day.” A thump sounded on the table, followed by a whirring and a bluish glow from their hand-cranked lantern.

  “How are these buildings heated at night, then?” Grayson asked.

  “They’re not,” her grandfather replied.

  Grayson didn’t respond. He looked shocked. That gave Rylee some satisfaction to see. As a Norm, she might have little in the way of possessions and comforts. But compared to Grayson, who apparently couldn’t fathom surviving without indoor heating, she was tough.

  Rylee’s grandfather stopped turning the lantern’s crank and sat back in his chair. Rylee had hoped that with the shutoff of the electricity her grandfather would call it an early night. Instead, her grandfather started asking Grayson questions about his childhood and other things that Rylee couldn’t care less about. Rylee sighed, and sunk down into her chair.

  The evening passed like mold growing on the bathroom ceiling. Rylee felt like impaling herself w
ith a fork, just to get Grayson and her grandfather to quit jabbering. Her grandfather was a quiet man, by nature. He did have his moments, though. Why did now have to be one of them…with this Elect? What would the others think if they knew she and her grandfather were entertaining an Elect at that moment? What if Preston discovered it was the same Elect who gave him a broken nose? Rylee’s heart stuttered at the thought. He couldn’t find out. No one could.

  Somehow the subject of religion came up while her grandfather and Grayson were talking.

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever met a true believer in God, or in a god before,” Grayson said, acting annoyingly interested. “I personally know little about pre-Desolation theology. Just heard a few rumors here and there. Tell me, how does your belief in a supreme, omnipotent being reconcile what Desolation has done to mankind? I believe Christians called their god merciful.”

  That did it. With that one innocent question, a lengthy theological debate ensued.

  Rylee wanted to shove electrical wires into her ears.

  Finally, finally, finally, the discussion died down. Her grandfather yawned, wished them both good night and left the table.

  “Wait a minute,” Rylee said, speaking for what seemed like the first time that night. “Where’s he going to sleep?”

  She pointed disdainfully at Grayson as though he were a rancid hunk of meat. Grayson merely raised his brows and looked quizzically back at her.

  “I’ll let you two figure that out,” her grandfather said, leaving them alone as he went into the bathroom.

  Great! Leave me to deal the nuisance.

  “I guess that means you’re sleeping out here tonight,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll find the floor as comfortable as your own bed.”

  Grayson feigned a smile. “You’re too kind.”

  “You could sleep in a tub of acid for all I care.” Rylee stood up from the table. “And if you try to come into my room tonight—”

  “You’ll shoot me with your…empty rifle?”

  Rylee pursed her lips and felt her nostrils flare as she exhaled forcefully. “Just stay out. And stay away from my grandfather.”

  With that, she marched into her room and slammed the door shut.

  Rylee sat on her bed staring up at the ceiling, waiting, listening. A solid hour later, she decided their guest must be asleep. She reached over and grabbed her earpiece from her desk. Next she grabbed her grappling hook and rifle. Even if it wasn’t loaded, she didn’t want Grayson getting a hold of it. Then she quietly pulled up her window sash and climbed out into the night.

  A frigid gush of air chilled her ears and nose as she stepped onto the fire escape. Closing her window again, she turned and began ascending the metal stairs. At the top, she unslung the grappling hook and cord from her shoulder. The fire escape ladders only reached to the topmost windows of each building. She could have jumped from the top of the railing to the building’s parapet, but she preferred using her grappling hook and rope.

  Swinging the grappling hook around a few times, she lofted it into the air. With a light clank, it struck the top of the roof. She pulled the cord tight to secure the hook onto the lip of the parapet, then climbed up the rest of the way to the top. Once on top of the building, she touched her earpiece and spoke softly. “Preston? Serghei? Is anyone on the line?”

  Several seconds passed. She began to fear they were all asleep. If she spoke loudly, she could probably wake Serghei. Of all the crew members, she most expected him to still be awake. She wasn’t sure if he ever slept.

  The earpiece hissed in her ear, then Preston’s groggy voice came over the line. “I’m here. What is it, Ry?”

  An immediate rush of warmth filled her just at the sound of Preston’s voice. Her earpiece hissed again. This time Serghei’s voice came over the line. “Present.” Serghei’s voice sounded faint, as if he were whispering. “The little grumpling is asleep on my couch. What news?”

  “Um…Serg,” she said tentatively. “I was hoping just to talk with Preston.”

  “Right,” he replied over the line. “I understand. Fully. I’ll just go back to painstakingly hunting through petabytes of old data searching for your parents.”

  Rylee rolled her eyes and smiled to herself.

  “And just for your knowledge,” he said, coming back on the line. “I absolutely will not be eavesdropping on your conversation. Feel free, then, to share your most intimate feelings.”

  The line went quiet.

  “Are you on top of your roof, Ry?” Preston asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Be there in five minutes.”

  Five minutes later, Preston pulled himself up onto the roof and sat down next to her on the parapet.

  “I brought popcorn,” he said, pulling out a small plastic bag from his jacket pocket.

  Rylee let out a tiny squeal, as she snatched the bag from his hands and started devouring its contents. “Where’d you get it?” she mumbled, her mouth full of the delicate white puffs.

  Popcorn was one of the few treats she’d ever known. Her grandfather sometimes told her stories about eating candy bars, chewing gum, and other sugary items she’d never tasted. Before Desolation, people had an abundant supply of any kind of food they wanted. There were even places called restaurants, where you could go any time of day and buy whatever food you wanted. There was also something called ice cream that was often in Serghei’s movies, that Rylee had always wanted to try.

  For her, popcorn was as good a treat as anything she knew.

  Preston shrugged. “I have my sources.” That probably meant Serghei had procured it during a scavenging run. “Sorry it’s not warm. I popped it a while ago.” He paused for a moment. “I expected to see you tonight at Serg’s. Is everything alright?”

  Rylee froze. She realized she hadn’t come up with a story for where she’d been all night. Why hadn’t she? She had all the time in the world while Grayson and her grandfather talked it up. There was no way in Desolation she was telling Preston the truth, though. Preston’s cries of anger from last night still haunted her thoughts. Even in the darkness, she could see Preston’s bruised and swollen face.

  “I just…couldn’t get away from my grandfather tonight,” she said. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. It still jabbed her in the stomach. For as long as she and Preston had known each other, she could never remember lying to him before. Not about anything important. “How’s Feng doing?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “I stopped by his mother’s place today. I told her Feng’s been injured, and that we’re taking care of him. I also told her he would be okay. Which, I don’t know is true.” His voice faded off a little as he said these last words. “She told me that one of Feng’s supervisors stopped by and issued Feng a formal citation for missing work. He has four days to get back to work or report to the Infirmary.”

  “I felt so bad,” he went on. “You should have seen the look in her eyes. I could barely take it.”

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Rylee had stopped eating the popcorn. Her stomach didn’t feel like it could handle food at that moment. She looked out over the tops of the buildings, towards the Elect sector of the city. Standing tall, mottled with numerous illuminated windows stood Steele Tower, the CA’s own building. While the heat and electricity was shut off for all but a few hours during the day in the slums, his building never went without.

  “What are we going to do for him?” Rylee asked, speaking at last.

  “Serg’s working on some kind of splint that will allow Feng to walk without putting pressure on the broken bone. He’s not sure if it will be ready soon enough, though.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  “We’ll hide him. The Regulators will never look for him at Serg’s. I’ve already decided that I’ll split my rations with him. And do what I can for his mother.”

  Of course, Preston would volunteer to share his rations with Feng. Share his already limited rations. Rations he needed to give him ene
rgy for his job. A job that left him drenched in sweat, even with winter fast approaching, and had transformed his arms muscles into chiseled hunks of stone.

  “He’ll be a fugitive…for the rest of his life,” she said, stating what they both already knew. “That will be tough on his mother.”

  “It’s better than the alternative.”

  It was an alternative she wished her grandfather would entertain. Her attempts to bring up the topic after the new mandate was made had been fruitless. He was far too proud for such a cowardly act.

  “What do you hope for?” she said.

  “What do you mean? For Feng?”

  “No, I mean…” She hesitated, feeling her cheeks flush. “Forget it,” she finally said. “It’s stupid.”

  “Nothing you could say would be stupid,” Preston replied, nudging her with his shoulder. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a dream—a nightmare. And one day, I’ll wake up, and things will different. Serg…he always talks about how he wants to make movies. Bring back Hollywood. Just like things were before Desolation. Do you have hopes?”

  Now that she had asked it, she definitely felt foolish. Preston didn’t mock the question, though. He seemed to be considering his response.

  “That’s a tough one,” he said, after a few moments. “I guess, I hope that one day my dad will forgive me, and treat me like a son again.”

  He wrapped a strong arm around her, and Rylee felt her pulse flutter, the way it always did when she had physical contact with Preston. Of late, that contact had been more and more common. A few weeks back, Preston had actually kissed her on the lips. She could still feel that kiss. It thrilled her and worried her all at once.

  Physical affection was a dangerous toy for them to play with. The Alliance regulated all births, and had zero tolerance for unauthorized pregnancies. Rylee had known plenty of women and girls forced to abort the babies they were carrying. In some cases, the Alliance simply Deprecated the pregnant mother.