Ascendant Unrest

by Matthew S. Cox

She sucked up a lungful of air that reeked of cordite and screamed again, squeezing herself against the old tire. Sarah pulled her close, trembling. The barrage ceased in a few seconds, leaving her scream clear and loud. Maya’s yell trailed off to silence when her lungs ran out of air.

  Cherry Red’s voice came from right above her. “S’all good now.”

  She lifted her head, sending a cascade of glass bits tumbling from her hair. The gang leader bled a little from the graze on his shoulder but didn’t seem bothered by it. Other gang members converged on a spread of beer cans laid out on an old car trunk, which they hastily packed into a box.

  “Dude was fucked up,” said a man behind Maya, the likely source of the hot brass. “Could barely hit the car. Bet he took some good shit.”

  “He dosed Hornet,” said Maya. “Right in the face.”

  Sarah reached up, grasped the top of the car door, and pulled herself into a squat, staring silent and wide-eyed through the shot-out windows at the carnage beyond. The girl said nothing, but didn’t have to. Maya didn’t want to look at what had become of the dosers and shook herself to get rid of the rest of the glass, keeping her eyes on the road.

  “Hey.” Cherry Red picked her up by a hand under each arm, carried her a few steps, and set her down on clear pavement. “Watch yer step. That’s glass.”

  “Drones are comin’,” said Tattoo.

  “Yep.” Cherry Red returned to the car and carried Sarah to safe ground. “You two best get on outta here ’fore the Authority shows up.”

  “Thank you.” Maya smiled.

  “Bah.” The gang leader waved her off. “Can’t say no ta some target practice. ’Sides, you got some righteous friends, Maya.”

  She blinked. The shock of being recognized faded in seconds. Of course, her face had been everywhere with the Brigade video. Did that make her part of the underground? Had she become a criminal? The gang gathered their beer and ran into an alley across the street from the one the girls came from.

  Sarah clutched her hand again and pulled her along at a run, continuing in the same direction they’d been going before. She headed for an open doorway a short distance later, entering a dusty room filled with shelves and mannequins. Once inside, she slowed to a silent walk around the sales counter toward the rear of the building. Maya followed, peering back over her shoulder every few seconds at the unmistakable whirr of Authority drones that had no doubt sensed the gunfire.

  Yellowed paper crinkled underfoot in a narrow corridor leading from the front room to a plain white door at the end, with a tiny bathroom on the right most of the way toward the end. A pile of porcelain chunks remained where someone had smashed a toilet. The likely culprit, a sledgehammer, lay on the floor nearby. Spiders scurried up the walls, and a few four-inch roaches emerged from a stack of boxes to investigate what disturbed their home.

  Maya shied away from the bugs, bumping Sarah in an effort to nudge her faster. The door at the end opened with a spray of peeling paint, revealing a small office containing a single desk, a pair of filing cabinets, and a ceiling fan with beard-like strips of dark grey dust dangling from the blades. The air smelled (and tasted) like wet socks that had been sitting for a few days. Sunlight leaking past slats in the rotting ceiling painted bands of glow in the floating haze.

  Maya inched in, threading her feet between piles of rocky debris and rusting cans. Sarah pushed the door closed behind them and turned a deadbolt.

  “We’re too close,” whispered Maya.

  Sarah led her behind the desk and crawled into the hollow beneath it, between two sets of drawers. “They’ll be looking for anyone running. We aren’t faster than drones. We didn’t do anything wrong. If the Authority comes in here, stay quiet. If they find us, we’ll say we heard guns and hid.”

  “Okay.” Maya nodded. “That sounds like something little kids would do.”

  Sarah grinned for a second, then looked sick. “Ugh. They shot them all.”

  “You have glass in your hair.” Maya scooted around to face her and got to picking the sparkling fragments away one by one, tossing them aside.

  “I’m so scared.” Sarah bit her lip. Again, she lost her little mother bearing, looking more like a terrified six-year-old. “I want my dad.”

  “Everyone had to hear them shooting. Doc Chang is right downstairs on the sixth. He definitely heard the guns going off. The men saw us go out the window so they left, and Doc would’ve helped your dad.” Maya kept picking bits of automotive glass out of Sarah’s thick hair. “Those men are probably still watching our building. They had a little drone. It’s probably still there looking for us. If we go back, someone else could get hurt.”

  Sarah’s lip quivered as tears slid down her cheeks. “W-what about that Barnes guy?”

  “He went with Mom.” Maya gave her a once-over, finding no more sparkling bits. She frowned at the curtain-dress, wide strips of pale skin visible where safety pins had stretched. “Your dress is falling apart.”

  Sarah shrugged one shoulder, seeming unconcerned.

  “Minute…” Maya repositioned safety pins, moving them to non-ripped spots and tightening the fit of her friend’s improvised garment. The yellowed former-curtain fabric had gone brittle in spots. Of course, to buy something to replace it, they’d have to get home to the money. After some minutes of pulling her fingers through Sarah’s hair, a sparkling not-diamond fell from Maya’s head and landed between her knees. “Ugh. Glass in my hair still. Check me?”

  “Sure.” Sarah smiled back at her.

  Cross-legged, Maya turned to give Sarah a clear look at her hair, rested her elbows on her knees, and mushed both fists into her cheeks. Bit by bit, Sarah cleared glass from her wild black mane.

  “Your hair is so pretty,” said Sarah. “At least when we’re not running for our life. I’m jealous. Whenever it’s really humid out, I turn into the frizz monster. Yours is always so straight.”

  Maya almost giggled. “Umm, so do I. The straightening isn’t natural. Well, I mean it is… but my genes are custom ordered. I think the hair is Japanese or something. I like yours more. I’m going to let mine get that long now. Always wanted to, but the bitch wouldn’t let me. Had to stay perfect for the camera.”

  “It’s long because I can’t pay anyone to cut it and I keep forgetting. Sitting on my hair all the time isn’t fun.”

  “Oh, you gotta keep it.” Maya gasped. “It’s so pretty that long.”

  “I dunno. Maybe.” Sarah picked and plucked, hunting for glass bits.

  While her friend worked, thoughts of what to do came and went. Home offered both the best and worst option, the most feeling of safety, but also the greatest risk—at least until Genna returned. Her mind went blank. Every few seconds, she flinched at a strand of hair pulling tight, but remained quiet. Sarah eventually shifted from removing and tossing glass bits to combing with her fingers.

  Amid the meditative silence, her eyes started to close under the soothing gesture.

  “I think we should go home. We can sneak up the alley out front. There’s a lot of awnings and fire escapes there, so it would be hard for a drone to see us before we see it.”

  Maya pushed herself back from the edge of sleep. “I guess we can look, but we have to be careful.”

  “It’s better than running into the wrong people out here. We’re too far away from the Hab.”

  Getting closer to friendly, or at least more civilized areas sounded like a good idea. Those men who broke in at night would probably hesitate opening fire on a pair of kids in broad daylight with Authority drones in plain sight.

  “Think it’s safe to go?” asked Maya.

  “I don’t hear any blueberries. I bet they’re not in a hurry. They saw a bunch of dead Nons. I bet they’re more pissed that someone has guns than people died.”

  Maya crawled out from under the desk and stood. “Not sure those dosers counted as people.”

  “Ouch,” said Sarah.

  “They were going to sell us to a prostitute
lady.” Maya approached the door and put her ear to it. “They stopped being people when they thought that was a good idea.”

  Sarah flared her eyebrows with an eye roll. “Okay. Good point.”

  After listening for a few minutes and not hearing any armored boots tromping about, Maya undid the deadbolt and pulled the door open enough to look out. The old clothing store remained as empty as it had been earlier. Not wanting to deal with roaches, Maya sprinted down the hallway to the big showroom. Sarah walked, giving her a quizzical look.

  “Bugs.” She shivered.

  “We already stepped on like a hundred of them.”

  “Eww,” whispered Maya. Her feet felt slimy all over again from the mere thought.

  Sarah crept up to the door, gave a quick left-right glance, and waved for Maya to follow.

  They walked down empty streets littered with vehicles, about one in six a working e-car, the rest long dead husks riddled with bullet holes. Twice, they crossed the street to avoid packs of older teens and adults hanging around porches of decaying buildings. Much to her relief, they got no more attention than passing glances.

  A couple blocks later, Sarah took a left onto a street that had more-intact buildings. The line where the official Habitation District started looked obvious even without the signs, a glaring difference about nine blocks ahead. On the near side of the ‘border street,’ the high-rises crumbled, many missing large sections of wall or whole corners. Less than thirty feet away across the road, the towers didn’t appear too much worse than they had before the war. Patches of modern repair work showed bright grey against the darker original construction. Intact buildings stretched side to side as far as they could see, like a wall keeping out the decay of abandonment.

  Sarah walked faster, likely pulled by her need to find out what happened to The Dad. Maya held on to her left wrist with both hands, her gaze fixed on the approaching (relative) cleanliness. They crossed a handful of streets, evaded a man with a shaved head in purple robes, and strayed into the road to get around a hotdog wagon with a sidewalk-clogging line. The sight of it made her think of ‘nutrient tubes’ and those crazy Jeva cultists. Sarah picked up speed when they came within one block of the entrance to the Hab.

  No Authority officers staffed the checkpoint, a good sign. Three portable combat barriers, their dark blue metal scuffed and scratched, blocked the street between two booths, the whole thing surrounded by concertina wire. Perhaps the officers who’d normally stood guard there had been diverted to the scene of the doser shooting.

  With a muffled yelp, Sarah stopped short when three blueberries wandered out from a side street at the edge of the Habitation District and strolled back to the checkpoint.

  “Don’t stop. Don’t act scared,” whispered Maya. “Just ignore them. We don’t matter. We’re just some street kids.”

  Her grip on Maya’s hand tightened, but Sarah kept going, eyes downcast. The Authority officers conversed in voices clipped off with short bursts of static from their helmet speakers. Apparently, they shared The Dad’s love of football. None even glanced at the girls as they hurried around the barricades and entered the Habitation District. Sarah headed to the right and jumped out of the road onto the sidewalk without breaking stride.

  The number of people increased the farther they went. One or two approached as if to beg, but retreated without much protest after getting a good look at them. Sarah kept the Hornet hidden under her dress, her head swiveling in a constant process of scanning their surroundings. A man climbing out of an e-car waved to Maya and grinned. Several steps later, a woman in a grey poncho and an air-filter mask coming the other way paused long enough to say, “Right on, kid.”

  Here and there, other people recognized her and offered waves, smiles, or raised fists in gestures of solidarity. Fear that more dosers or less-friendly gangs would find them faded. All she’d have to do here is scream ‘help,’ and it seemed likely ten or more people would come running. Her timid posture gave way to a confident stride, which Sarah sensed and matched.

  Five blocks deep into the Hab, Sarah pulled her to a stop. “We’re almost there. Left two streets ahead and down another three. If they’re looking for you, we should start being sneaky now.”

  “Okay.”

  They cut left into an alley. Maya stared up past fire escapes laden with drying laundry, small grills, and an old person or six. A wrinkled man with streaks of yellow in his waist-long white beard. He stared down at them from a third floor patio shelf and took a long pull from a non-electric cigar. Age had weathered his features to the point Maya couldn’t tell if he squinted out of suspicion or poor vision.

  What little sky peeked between the fluttering linens, awnings, and patio extensions appeared drone free. Pigeons perched everywhere from the first to tenth floors, sat on wires, or milled around on the ground. The ballsy creatures walked right up to her as if expecting to be fed.

  Sarah stopped a minute or so later at the end of the alley. She clung to the wall and peered around the corner. Her stomach growled.

  “What?” Maya leaned up behind her and caught a whiff of food. Fried… something. Her mouth watered. It had to be well past noon, and neither one of them had eaten since the previous night.

  “’Mon,” said Sarah, pulling her around the corner. “Let’s go scrapping.”

  “Scrapping?”

  The building they’d been hiding by turned out to be a small restaurant, the source of the wonderful aroma. Two huge windows offered a view of a dining area full of booth seats opposite a counter where a man sat on a padded stool, back to the door. About a third of the booths had people sitting in them.

  “It’s free food,” said Sarah.

  She pushed the door open and walked in, heading to the left, past two empty tables and a couple in the middle of their meal. A plate with a scattering of fries and a bit of hamburger bun, as well as an untouched stack of lettuce/tomato/onion, sat on the fourth table. Since no one sat there, Sarah hurried over and divided the remaining fries as close to in half as possible. She pointed Maya at one pile and stuffed the other stack in her mouth.

  Maya gawked.

  Still chewing the fries, Sarah took one piece of tomato, and half the lettuce, and jammed it into her face.

  Maya hesitantly picked up a cold fry and nibbled on it. “Someone else ate this.”

  “Smf?” asked Sarah. She swallowed. “So? Ours now. They don’t want it.”

  “This is scrapping?” Maya picked up the other tomato slice with two fingers. It had no bite marks, so she gave it one.

  “Yeah. They’re just gonna throw it out.” Sarah took two gulps out of a cup, and left the rest for Maya before moving to the next table.

  Overcome by hunger, Maya cleared the plate and grabbed the cup. Water.

  “Hi,” said Sarah to the man seated at the fifth table. “Are you done with that? Can I have it?”

  “Sure, kid.” The short scuff of a plate sliding on table followed.

  Maya put the empty cup down and hurried to Sarah’s side. The plate in front of her held a few bread crusts and a half-eaten quarter of a sandwich. She broke it apart and gave Maya the slightly bigger piece.

  The smell made it easy to forget some total stranger had bitten it before her, and Maya gobbled up the turkey, toast, lettuce, and something trying to be bacon. Someone cleared their throat on the other side of the place, sounding annoyed. Sarah ignored it and helped herself to a pile of potato chips on another plate at an empty table across the aisle from Turkey Sandwich Man. Maya gulped down her share and rushed over to feast on chips beside her friend.

  “Hey,” said a deep voice, above and behind them.

  A firm hand landed on Maya’s left shoulder.

  Sarah let out an “Eep,” spraying crumbs.

  “What are you two doing?” asked the man.

  Maya twisted to peer up at a large-framed man in a white apron over a blue flannel shirt. He had a few extra pounds on him and drooping jowls that gave his face a raindro
p shape—much wider at the jaw than the top of his head. His clothes reeked of fried food so much she almost bit him.

  “Uhh….”

  Sarah went platter-eyed. “We’re just asking for scraps. Please, we’re no trouble.”

  “Where’s your parents?” asked the man in a stern tone.

  “I don’t know,” said Sarah, lip quivering.

  “My mother had to go on a job that takes a few days. She’s coming home soon.”

  The man pulled them along, ushering them to the end of the row. With a shake of his head, he let go and gestured at the last booth seat in the corner. “Sit here an’ keep quiet. I’ll fix you some proper food.”

  Sarah blinked. It took a second for her to recover from her astonishment. “Thank you!” She bounced on her toes, grinning and crying.

  “Yes. Thank you.” Maya beamed. “Sorry if we’re a little dirty. Bad guys tried to kidnap us and we’ve been hiding all day.”

  The man frowned. “The damn hell is wrong with people?” He sighed. “Got four of my own or I’d offer ta take yas in. Least I can do is give ya a decent meal.”

  “You’re nice.” Maya smiled. “When Mom comes home, she’ll pay for our food.”

  He smiled like he didn’t really expect anyone to show up with money, then walked off through a flapping door into a kitchen area, still grumbling about the state of the city.

  Sarah crawled onto the bench seat against the wall. Maya scooted in beside her. Their perch offered a view of the entire room, except for where the dining area bent around the corner to the left on the far end of the counter. Still, the front door sat nine tables away directly in front of them. No one could walk in without being obvious. The wall by the window afforded a little concealment from the outside, helped along by a dusty plastic rhododendron and a fern, and the man who owned this place made her feel safe enough to relax.

  Her feet hurt. Her legs ached. Her heart almost slowed back to normal.

  “What are we gonna do?” asked Sarah.

  “Eat,” said Maya.

  “Butt.” Sarah poked her in the side. “I mean after.”

  Maya leaned against Sarah and held her hand. “I’ll think of something.”