by Amanda Cyr
“Oh-six-hundred tomorrow, Zhukov.” One of them laughed. Two of the earlier patrols tossed the same time out as they’d passed. My execution must have been arranged. Such a shame I wouldn’t be able to make it.
The footsteps faded and then, at last, the lights went out. A handful of green, safety lights remained on for the sake of the patrol, but my cell itself would remain dark for the next twelve hours. It took the patrol anywhere from twenty seconds to two minutes to shut themselves up in the office. My fingers drummed as I started counting.
One. Two. Three…
Down the hall, someone began to cry. His cry became a moan, which escalated quickly to wailing. I shut my eyes and tried to focus on counting.
Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen…
The wailing of the prisoner caused another to shout at him. She cursed and called him all sorts of names which resonated off the walls and through the prison. Bodies shifted on their cots. I scratched my fingernails across my scalp and rolled to my side, pulling the pathetic excuse for a pillow up over my ear.
Fifty-six. Fifty-seven. Fifty-eight…
My new position didn’t agree with my fractured ribs. I rolled back onto my back, dropping the pillow, and stared into the noisy darkness again. Another prisoner sobbed somewhere nearby. He banged on his cot, moaning a woman’s name over and over. His lover perhaps? Would I soon find myself hunched over my own cot, tearing into my pillow, crying for Val?
No. We are getting out of here. I sat up and pressed my hands over my ears, counting loud enough that the reverberation of the numbers kept other noises out. “Ninety-nine. One hundred. One hundred and—”
I jumped as a woman screamed bloody murder. A second later she laughed, howling out the words, “Little bird! Little bird!” between her maniacal fits. Other voices grew louder, cursing, crying, begging, or screaming; coming together to form one, horrendous din, which threatened to split my skull wide open.
Val was alive. My sanity ruling had been signed. There were only two options left for me. I could join in the madness of my fellow inmates for the remainder of my short hours, or I could try to save Val Grey.
“One hundred and fucking twenty.” I groaned, jumping off the cot.
I hurried to the bars of my cell, humming with electricity. The hair on my body stood on end as I approached. I got as close as I could to the bars and looked down the hall for the flashlight of a patrol. Nothing in either direction.
Rushing back to my cot, I flipped the mattress over and ripped the yellow label off its underside. One side was covered in the usual disclaimers nobody read, while the other was blank. I put the bed back the way it was then sat in front of the bars. The green lights in the hall provided just enough light that I could see to work.
Hidden up one of my sleeves was a pen. It was Dr. Halliburton’s, one of the many things I’d sent flying off the table when I flipped it over. At the time, I’d grabbed it to use as a weapon against her. The two-line note I jotted on the back of a mattress tag was almost as satisfying as a well-aimed stab might have been.
POA
Brigadier McKee
Over the noise of the crazed prisoners, I heard the door to the patrol office bang open. My note was finished just in time. I unzipped my jumpsuit enough so I could tuck it under the top row of bandages around my ribs. The yellow slip was a stark contrast to my skin and bindings, something no doctor could miss. Although the note itself was risky, it was much easier to carry on my person than a pen; that I opted to throw out of my cell and straight through the bars of the one opposite of mine.
The bearded, old prisoner occupying the cell gave a snort. He scooted himself next to the bars and sat on the floor with his legs crossed. One of his eyes was glossed over; the other was dark and locked onto mine. There wasn’t time to factor him into my plan. I pushed my sleeves up to my elbows and rubbed my palms together, skin damp with a layer of sweat.
The old prisoner cackled quietly. It somehow made the bars between us, humming with electricity, all the more daunting. I’d heard of men who threw themselves at these bars in seek of escape. Never did I think I’d be one of them. This was my chance, though. If I was going to save Val, this was the only way.
I told myself I couldn’t scream. If I screamed, the guards would know what I was doing and cut power to my cell. Self-control had nothing to do with it when, upon touching the bars, I was paralyzed and couldn’t scream no matter how badly I wanted to. Everything inside of me set fire. My palms felt as though they were being scorched by white, hot flames, and as the current ripped its way through the rest of my body, muscles ached in ways I had never imagined possible.
Five seconds. My vision blurred. My body numbed. Ten seconds. My grip slipped on the bars and on the world around me. I couldn’t feel the ground as I hit it, but I heard a loud crack when my head struck.
King Street Station—Seattle, WA
Wednesday, November 18th, 2076—7:05 a.m.
al didn’t stir when I slipped out of bed. My new boyfriend was a heavy sleeper. My new boyfriend. No matter how many times I called him that, it still sounded strange. I felt like we were supposed to have some sort of conversation about it, something semi-formal, but what did I know about normal relationships? Anyone who hadn’t been a mark, pursued simply for intel, was a Y.I.D. dog who didn’t have time or interest in such conversations.
Val was different in more ways than one, and I had no idea what to do with him. He used the word first, so maybe I didn’t have to do anything. Unless he wanted to have that sort of discussion, of course. Did normal people want to have a proper, “will you go out with me” moment? Not like Val was normal, but he was closer to it than me, and I didn’t want to muck up what we had by under or overthinking the weight of a single word. Even as I wandered now through the train station, in the middle of an important mission, the term nagged at me. Some professional agent-gone-AWOL I was.
On my way to the station, I’d purchased a prepaid phone and transferred all my old contact numbers. That was step one in my disappearing act. Step two involved giving the Y.I.D. a decoy to chase after. I looked for a person to plant my old phone on, someone whose tan would betray them as a tourist. It was a stroke of luck the man jabbering loudly on his headset also sported an orange complexion. I took a seat on the bench behind him and waited.
“Maggie! Slow down!” a little girl in corduroy overalls shouted.
“Can’t catch me!” a second girl, slightly younger and in matching attire, called back.
The two girls playing tag in the lobby squealed as they ran between the rows. Monkeys in the zoo behaved better, and like monkeys, they scrambled over the bench in front of me. The first girl knocked a briefcase off the bench, next to the man jabbering on his headset. Her pursuer jumped after her, foot catching on the rolling suitcase and toppling it over.
“What the—? What is wrong with you brats?” hollered the man as he sprung to his feet. The girls carried on like they’d done nothing wrong, giggling as they ran for the escalator. “Whose kids are those?” he demanded, ripping the headset from his ear.
When nobody stepped forward to claim responsibility for the girls, he threw his hands up. As he bent over to pick up his luggage, cursing loud enough for everyone in the station to hear, I stood and slipped my old phone into a pocket of his duffle. By the time he’d straightened his belongings, I was halfway to the escalator.
Waiting for me in the underground were the two girls who’d been kind enough to create a distraction in exchange for ten bucks. After withdrawing a huge chunk of my savings, I had plenty of cash on hand to spare. I handed them a ten dollar bill each.
“And these,” I said, bending my knees to sit on my heels and holding up two more ten dollar bills, “These ones are for if you promise to keep this our little secret.”
Their eyes brightened. “We won’t tell nobody,” the older of the two said.
I bit back a grimace. She was lucky I’d gotten more lax about correcting other people’s grammar. Bein
g around the revolutionaries made me used to it, and I handed the money to them with a smile.
“Thank you!” they said in perfect synchronization.
The pair took off into the city, hand-in-hand like they didn’t have a care in the world. Like they didn’t think it was possible that, in a matter of days, everything would be buried. Everything and everyone. The grimace I’d been fighting won. It was way too early to feel as guilty as I did at that moment.
Lucky for me, there was someone across town who could make me feel better. I grinned like a lovesick fool the entire way home. Any time I worried about what Aiden would think when I didn’t show up in the airport, I distracted myself with the thought of Val still asleep where I’d left him. The faint smell of mint shampoo mixing wonderfully with the harshness of nicotine lingering on his skin. The way his mouth hung slightly agape as he slept, mumbling occasionally. His body temperature warming the longer I held him. I must have been up for at least an hour after he’d gone to sleep, reveling in the long-overdue sense of peace he gave me.
We didn’t need to define the terms of our relationship, I decided. For now, things were easy, natural, and wonderful. It felt right. Besides, we both had bigger things to worry about than the clarification of “boyfriend.”
I made it back to base at quarter ‘til eight. I’d expected the house to be quiet, since none of the revolutionaries were morning people. There was a light on in the living room, though, and the second I opened the front door, I caught my first sign something was wrong.
Anya and Benji, both still in their pajamas, stood half-hidden around the corner of the stairs. Their heads whipped in my direction when the door opened. Anya’s shoulders were squared, but her furrowed brow and red eyes betrayed the distress she was trying to hide. I dropped my bag in time to catch her as she threw her arms around me. It made me wish I’d taken a shot of morphine when I got up.
“Is it true?” she muffled into my shoulder.
Was what true? I panicked. Did she know about me and her brother? Was she upset about it? Of course she wouldn’t be upset about that. She’d been pushing us together for a while now. It must have been the other big news—the fact the city was coming down.
I swallowed, hard. I didn’t have the slightest idea how to reply. Last night, Val and I talked about telling the others, but I thought that meant we’d do it together. Instead, I was the one on the spot, alone.
Over Anya’s head, I looked to Benji for help, guidance, or some kind of warning of what to expect next. His lips turned into a frown, posture sagging with it. He glanced away, staring at the floor like he didn’t have anything to say to me. I’d never seen him so miserable.
A sudden outcry from upstairs saved me from needing to answer. Anya flinched against my chest. Benji grumbled something I couldn’t make out and shook his head. I released Anya and hurried up the stairs, two at a time. The shouting grew louder the higher I climbed, and I reached the war room in time catch the brunt of the conflict.
It looked like a slumber party gone wrong. Everyone was there, all the revolutionaries who lived in the base as well as Jayne, Gemma, Michael, Finn, Lee, Marco, and new faces I didn’t recognize. Everyone screamed out loud, trying to get their arguments heard. I couldn’t see him over their heads, but I knew Val was somewhere at the center of the crowd.
Marco spotted me in the doorway first. “It’s Nik!”
Mouths shut, mine included. Every set of eyes turned on me. I didn’t have time to pick out the angry expressions from the scared ones, not with Jayne storming toward me with something far beyond hatred in his glare. I readied my stance for the fight.
“What are you playing at?” Jayne demanded.
He stopped in front of me and leaned in close; I could feel the heat burning off his face. Way too close. My self-defense reflexes surged to life, and the rush of adrenaline brought with it the fierce beginnings of a migraine.
“Back off,” I warned.
Jayne’s brow creased even further. His upper lip curled like a dog ready to maul. He stepped an inch closer, a mistake which triggered the rest of my instincts. Muscles pulled tight. I balled my hands, knuckles stiff, ready and eager to have another go at Jayne.
“Jayne, hey man, don’t pick a fight,” came Tibbs’ voice somewhere far off.
Fritzi called from the same distant place, “Seriously, Jayne.”
“Let’s all calm down,” Gemma pleaded.
Others threw out their own attempts to break up the standoff, but I wasn’t listening. The only person I paid attention to was Jayne. His eyes were locked on mine and so unforgiving; I knew the second I looked away, he’d go for my throat. I was happy to make a fool of him in front of his friends.
“You tell me the truth,” Jayne said, voice dropping lower.
“What are you talking about?”
“That bullshit story about getting away from Granne and those Greys. I’ve been there, punk. You couldn’t just escape all sweet and easy like.”
“Maybe you couldn’t.” I scoffed.
A sharp intake of breath from Jayne, and his massive jaw worked from side to side. Rather than dwell on the insult, though, he asked, “What’s this bull about Oxford?”
I was right. They all knew about Oxford. I didn’t falter one bit. I couldn’t.
“Val told you everything,” I said.
He laughed once. Our friends spoke louder now, but it was all white noise to me. Jayne’s intensity muted everything around us. “Yeah, we heard what you told him. What I wanna know is how you know.”
“Jayne, leave him alone.” Val’s voice carried over the others, reached through my chest, and pulled hard on strings wound tight. Last night, we’d agreed to tell the others about The Council’s plans together. Betrayal hurt much more than I’d expected.
“We deserve to know!” Jayne snapped at those who tried to stop him.
“Jayne’s right!” someone shouted.
“Yeah! Come on, tell us!” added another.
Jayne sneered. With others adding their support, he made the mistake of getting arrogant. Arrogant in the face of a dog trained how to break every bone in his enemy’s body.
“Well? Who told you, huh?” he said.
“Your mom.”
There were screams when he swung at my head. I leaned away, waited for his arm to pass over, and then lunged forward to punch him in the face. More screams and a jolt of pain in my stomach. Shit. I bit, hard, on the inside of my cheek. I hadn’t taken any painkillers, yet.
Jayne grabbed my fist as I pulled back to strike. His other hand closed tight around my throat. I grabbed his wrist with my free hand as Jayne slammed me against the wall. Over his shoulder, I spotted Tibbs and Val shoving through the crowd to intervene. Val shouted something I couldn’t hear over the pounding in my ears.
Before Jayne could do anything, my foot was on his chest. I pushed off him, crunching my abs together so I could swing my other foot with as much force as possible, nailing him in the gut. Jayne wheezed. He let go of me, and, since I still hadn’t gotten a foot on the ground, I fell flat on my back. Pain exploded through my body. I cursed, clutched both hands over my stomach and rolled to my side. The patch of cheek I’d been biting inside my mouth tore, and the metallic tang of blood coated my tongue.
Panicked cries swirled overhead. There were hands on my shoulder, indistinguishable voices asking if I was okay. I tried to block their noise out. I tried only to think about how my stitches were definitely not tearing, how my lack of supplements wasn’t bad enough yet to keeping me from healing, and how… How everything was starting to feel better.
I opened my eyes and saw Val on his knees next to me, holding the tip of a syringe in my arm. I’d never seen him look so serious before. I’d also never seen anyone with worse bed head. It helped distract me from the throbbing under the bandages which, I hoped, weren’t being soaked with blood.
Gemma, one hand still on my shoulder, worked my shirt up. She gave a relieved sigh, which I took as a go
od sign. “Looks like the stitching didn’t tear,” she said.
“Good.” I grunted.
Val removed the syringe and gave my arm a quick squeeze. The gesture didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it reminded me why I was laying on the floor in the first place. He told them about Oxford without me. Together, we could have kept things from getting out of hand.
I narrowed my eyes. Val’s hand moved from my wrist, and cold fingers wound between mine. There was some kind of apology in his face I didn’t want to read. I let my hand close around his, anyway.
“Well that explains it,” Lee said, voice way too shrill for my migraine to tolerate.
Everyone looked to see what she pointed at and, oh no, I was holding Val’s hand. I was holding Val’s hand in a room full of our friends. Panic and mortification gushed through my chest, then Jayne started laughing.
“It’s a pair of fags,” he said.
Val leapt to his feet. I scrambled after him, ignoring the pain in my stomach. Jayne would kill him. Val would get snapped in two. I wouldn’t let that happen. One hand still over the pulsing gunshot wound, I reached behind my back for the gun tucked in my jeans.
Fritzi beat us both to Jayne. She grabbed his shirt with two hands, her stance wide and shoulders squared. The size difference between them might have been comical in a different setting.
“What did you just say?” she demanded.
Even Jayne looked shocked. Fritzi wasn’t the only one rushing to our rescue either. Tibbs was at her side a moment later. He punched his fist into his palm over and over again as he said, “You need to leave. Now.”
“Before we make you leave,” Fritzi added.
“But, as a warning,” Tibbs continued, “It’d be hard for you to walk out of here if we break your kneecaps.”
Jayne didn’t say anything. I kept a hand on my gun. The room was silent, breaths held and eyes darting nervously. Then Gemma left my side and ran forward. She was half-shielded from Jayne by Tibbs’ massive frame, but her point was clear. Michael was at her heels and Marco, always one to follow the herd, scurried after them.