by Brenda Poppy
Burn this City
Brenda Poppy
Copyright © 2020 Brenda Poppy
First published by Glass Fish Publishing 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
First edition
E-book ISBN: 978-1-7356181-1-1
www.glassfishpublishing.com
To my husband, Robert, and my family, without whose support this book never would have come to be.
And to all the dreamers out there, the lovers of books, the writers, the artists, the storytellers. You are part of something beautiful. Don’t let the world get you down!
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Acknowledgement
About the Author
Chapter 1
Auburn sat in prison. It was, she thought, an unfortunate turn of events. It wasn’t like she’d been doing anything wrong…yet. She put her head back against the cold concrete wall and considered the choices that had brought her to this moment.
There she’d been, taking a leisurely stroll through the dirty underbelly of the city, artfully skirting the pickpockets and drug dealers, when out of nowhere an entire squadron of Peace Officers had turned up and begun arresting everyone in sight. It was a travesty of justice.
But that was the way of things on Kasis. One day, when you were eating dinner with your family or tucking your children into bed (or plotting to overthrow the military dictatorship that crushed your individual rights), Peace Officers would storm in, tackle you to the ground, and throw you in a cell. Whether or not you had actually broken any laws was more or less immaterial.
And, in Auburn’s case, she hadn’t. Well, at least she hadn’t on that particular night.
She readjusted her body on the concrete bench, trying to find a more comfortable position. After roughly 10 hours in a cell, however, she was coming to realize that comfort wasn’t exactly what these rooms had been designed for. In reality, they’d been crafted to contain the strongest, most violent prisoners, which explained why concrete covered nearly every surface – the walls, the ceiling, the furniture (if you could even call it that).
The only thing not cemented in place was the door, but since it was made up of several inches of cold, hard steel, it was almost equally impenetrable. A porthole-sized window in said door provided the only glimpse into the Peace Station beyond.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true. At least not for Auburn. As it happened, she possessed a certain gift that allowed her to see past her immediate surroundings. Or, more accurately, hear past.
Because that was what Auburn did. She heard things. The small things whispered in dark corners and the secrets shared between lovers on cold nights. That was her gift. And her curse. And, at the moment, her only way of breaking up the tedious boredom of a sleepless night in prison.
It wasn’t as if she was the sole gifted citizen on Kasis. It was, after all, an uninhabitable planet. But here they were – inhabiting. It was no wonder that prolonged colonization produced…side effects. Or deviations. Or mutations. Most of the population of Kasis was generally normal. Or normal adjacent. Or perfectly normal despite some strange physical anomalies.
But then there were the others, the extremes of the spectrum, the ones whose gifts gave them power over people or objects or forces of nature. Those were the ones the Peace Force was afraid of. Those were the ones who typically occupied these cells. And, as she listened to the world around her, sending her senses past concrete and steel, those were the people she heard on the other side of the walls.
Auburn focused her attention on the cell next to hers, where the steel door had just swung open.
“Get in there!” she heard a gruff voice say as he shoved a second prisoner in with the cell’s original inhabitant. The prisoner stumbled and fell, landing harshly on the hard floor before picking himself back up.
“Play nice, you two,” the guard taunted before stepping outside and slamming the door shut.
This wasn’t going to be good, Auburn thought, bracing herself. One of these men was going to die. Or both. It didn’t matter, at least not to the Peace Force.
That’s how things worked when they brought in a freak. The Peace Officers would beat him up, chuck him in a cell, and a few days later – or a few weeks or months, assuming he hadn’t wasted away completely – they would throw in someone else to “keep him company.” Both reprobates, having been pumped with a near-lethal dose of ManniK or another rage-inducing street drug, would then proceed to tear each other to bits as inhumanely as possible.
It was cheaper than a trial. And more certain of a “favorable” outcome. The process was simple, speedy, and unequivocally corrupt. That was the norm on Kasis.
She listened intently as more officers crowded around the door, preparing for the show. This was their game, their sport, their way to win or lose a few bucks during an otherwise boring workday. Because what good is a life if you can’t bet on when it will come to a sudden and violent end? And these two seemed to be particularly good lives to bet on, based on the commotion.
Auburn closed her eyes and imagined a different ending, one where they didn’t have to fight and die for other people’s amusement. Maybe this time it would be different. Maybe they could resist the pull of the ManniK. Maybe they could live.
But, no, the drug’s pull was too strong. She listened as the battle commenced, accompanied by cheers and boos from the crowd. One of the prisoners emitted a whoosh of air that sent his opponent flying. The other man retaliated, and she heard what sounded like jets of water fling the first man to the ground.
Air and water battling for supremacy. It was quite the matchup indeed.
ManniK’s blind rages didn’t lend themselves much to conversation, so it wasn’t a verbose battle. More grunts and thuds than witty repartee. The Peace Officers outside, however, did provide some verbal interjections – interspersed with their own grunts and thuds.
“Come on! Get that water-spewing freak!” “Kick his ass to next week.” “Tear that airhead to pieces!”
The tides of the battle shifted to and fro, punctuated by the sound of soft bodies colliding with hard surfaces. Auburn didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to hear the outcome, but she couldn’t tune it out. A hiss of water. A bone breaking. A gust of air. A moan of pain.
As she listened, the noises in the room began to change, evolving from hard thuds to wet splashes. It was as if the combatants had been replaced b
y monstrous sea creatures battling to the death amidst the incoming tides.
Then Auburn realized what was happening. The cell was filling with water. Quickly. She looked to her own door, trying to ascertain if any water had begun to leak into the cell. But it appeared to be sealed tight, its flush metal surface acting as an impenetrable barrier through which nothing could flow. She breathed a sigh of relief. She was safe. But they weren’t.
The sounds of feet on concrete drifted away as the fighters were lifted up by the rising waters and forced to swim. But even the threat of drowning couldn’t stop their battle. It was like every instinct for self-preservation had vanished, leaving only anger and enmity in their wake.
Auburn was lost in the sounds, lost in the tragic story unfolding before her ears. Which was why the knock on her door came as such a surprise. She should have heard the footsteps. But who would listen for an approach when life and death were already on your proverbial doorstep?
She straightened up, got hold of her emotions, and glanced toward the door. All she could see from her vantage point on the low concrete bench was a black hat, although this was presumably attached to a gun-wielding Peace Officer.
Auburn knew she had no real power to grant – or deny – entrance, but she still mustered her most even, unfazed voice for a quick “come in.” It was a good sign that they were knocking. When you were slated for “company” or the Pit, they didn’t bother to warn you first.
The door opened slowly, another good sign. The riotous sounds from the hall came into crisp, clean focus before sharply cutting off as the hat-clad man shut the door behind him.
They wouldn’t want her to hear anything she shouldn’t, now would they?
As the hat-man turned, Auburn took stock of him. He was older, with graying brown hair peeking out from beneath his cap and a back just beginning to stoop with age. And he was a detective, not a typical Peace Officer, since he wore a slightly oversized suit and brown jacket rather than the all-black military kit. And he was familiar.
“Detective Grayland,” Auburn said, feigning surprise. “How nice to see you here. Come, have a seat. Can I get you some tea?” She allowed a hint of playful sarcasm into her otherwise flat voice.
Detective Grayland smiled weakly and cleared his throat. He was clearly uncomfortable and kept glancing down at his hat, which he’d taken off and was now awkwardly fidgeting with.
“I would have come sooner if I’d known you were down here,” he said apologetically. “They didn’t release the list of those taken in the raid until just now. I came as soon as I saw ‘Auburn Alendra’ on it.” He finally looked up and made eye contact, as if asking for her forgiveness.
Auburn remained silent. She held onto her explanation, saving it for when it was needed. It was best not to lie until you had to. The same went with forgiveness.
“They thought there was going to be a meeting, some rebel group or other,” he continued. “Apparently there’d been a tip that they’d be meeting in the Corax End. So Cross sent out all the officers within shouting distance to bring in every person they could.”
Of course it had been Cross. General Illex Cross, to be precise. Him and Auburn were…acquainted.
“But what were you doing down in Corax, Burn?” he asked, softening his voice and invoking her nickname in an attempt to lighten the mood. “There’s nothing down there but ManniK men and thieves hawking their stolen goods. That’s no place for a sergeant’s daughter.”
And there was the ace up her sleeve. She was a sergeant’s daughter. Or she had been, once. It seemed like a lifetime ago. But most of the officers still saw her that way, which, it seemed, came in handy from time to time.
Grayland was waiting for her to respond. She took her time, considering the man in front of her. Once upon a time, Grayland had reported to her father and had been a veritable friend of the family. Although she found it difficult to think of anyone on the force as “good,” he was likely as close as they came.
So it was unfortunate she had to lie to him.
“I was looking for my mother’s music box,” she began, looking down into her hands as if in a fit of emotion. She’d been practicing the story in her head since she’d been grabbed, so it wasn’t too difficult. “Dad sold it shortly after she died. I’ve been looking for it for a year with no luck. I thought maybe it had turned up in the Corax End.” She looked up into his eyes, making hers round and sad. “I wanted something to remember her by.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. Burn’s mother had died when she was 4 and her sister 6. Lung disease caused by the high amount of pollution in the city’s lower tiers. Their family had moved up to the higher levels once the children were born and her father was promoted to sergeant, but it had already been too late. Burn’s only real memories of her mother were of her bedridden and weak, coughing up blood and the black grime of the city. It wasn’t exactly something she wanted to remember.
But it was enough for Grayland. “Aw, Burn,” he said, sitting next to her on the bench. “All you want is a piece of your mother’s life and you end up getting nabbed in a pointless raid? I’m so sorry.”
“Pointless?” Burn queried, trying to hide the full extent of her curiosity. “So there weren’t any rebels after all?”
“Well, no. There’s still plenty of riffraff to process. But it looks like it’s only the usual petty grifters. I don’t know where Cross gets his intel, but I bet they’ll be regretting this particular tip.”
Oh, they’d regret it, Burn thought. If Cross didn’t get his hands on the traitor, she would. And she had a feeling she knew who it was.
She pushed that thought aside and continued the charade. “What a relief. To think I could have been so close to anarchists gives me the chills. But at least you’ve cleaned up some of the Corax End. Should make things quiet down for a while.”
“Yeah, but I’m up to my neck in paperwork.” He laughed lightly and visibly relaxed. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. I bet your sis is worried sick.” He rose to his feet, his knees making an audible crack in the process.
Burn rose, too, exaggerating her stiffness. “I think we’re both getting too old for this kind of thing.”
“I think you may be right,” he said, tapping on the door to get the officer outside to open it.
As Burn followed Grayland out, she caught glimpses of the aftermath of the battle that had raged next door. Some officers were gradually drifting away in twos and threes, discussing “technique” and fantasy criminal matchups and the best ManniK dose for the optimal fight. Others were paying up to the few victors who had bet on a no-win outcome.
As soon as they saw Burn, however, they stood up a bit straighter, hastily putting their ill-gotten gains behind them. But they hadn’t moved fast enough to stop her from seeing into the room.
Water. The room was completely filled with water. And, although Burn’s eyes weren’t as good as her ears, she knew she had also seen bodies, masses floating strangely about the room as their blood slowly turned the water pink.
Burn looked away, steeling herself. It wasn’t the gruesome nature of the scene that got to her. It was the total disregard for life and justice and…human decency. It made her blood boil. But this was not the place to make a scene, although she desperately wanted to.
She followed Grayland up the stairs, concentrating on the steps and trying to slow her breathing to an acceptable rate. Best not to look too crazed when being brought out of a cell. They might just chuck you back in and be done with it.
They finally made it to the ground floor, passing several more stories of cells along the way. By then Auburn had properly stowed her emotions, plastering on an expression of relief and gratefulness. Which came in handy when she turned the corner and came face to face with General Cross, who had no doubt been waiting there for this very moment.
“Ms. Alendra,” he crooned with sickly sweetness. “I was shocked to learn you’d been brought in as part of our raid. For the life of me I can’t fathom ho
w an error like this occurred. As soon as I learned you were here, I took every possible action to expedite your release.” He smiled and Burn’s stomach roiled.
Damn, he was good. Smooth, suave, and uncompromisingly corrupt. The perfect politician.
He looked the part, too. Tall, lean, and chiseled, he oozed machismo and charm. But Burn knew better. Underneath the perfect suit and the slicked back black hair was the soul of a demon, a murderer, a tyrant. It was under his leadership that the poor and deviant disappeared from their homes, never to be seen again. His rivals, enemies, and anyone who opposed his methods typically found themselves the victim of a brutal end, or framed for a heinous act, tried by a crooked court, and sentenced to the Pit.
When the military ruled your fair city, putting people like Cross in positions of power, what else could you expect? On the surface Kasis was a highly functioning and structured society, albeit with high levels of pollution. But underneath was a grimy underbelly of sanctioned murder, bribery, and corruption.
There were even rumors that Cross and his gang were behind the recent spread of tainted ManniK, which was supposedly their attempt to weed out the city’s “undesirables.”
But Burn’s hatred went deeper than that. It was personal. Although she had no proof, she knew Cross was the one who had killed her father – or at least the one who had sent him to his death.
Arvense had been one of the good guys. Or, at least, better. He wasn’t perfect, but he had a code and he followed it. He had been selected at a young age for the military track and, as soon as he’d finished school, had jumped into the service with vigor.
With a natural litheness of mind and body, he was a natural fit. He relished the hunt and was adept at uncovering both people and the secrets they tried to hide.
Arvense wasn’t immune to corruption. His extensive repertoire of secrets had bought favors with powerful aristocrats throughout the city. But his targets were the rich and powerful – not the innocent, the poor, or the gifted. Coming from the lower levels himself, he had no desire to persecute them further, and he would often find ways to loosen their collective shackles, whether by forgetting debts, misplacing paperwork, or slipping meals to those lying forgotten in cells for crimes they didn’t commit.