The Fortress of Clouds

by J. A. J. Peters

  “Oh, I can tell, Ben,” she said with a wink. “I mother myself, so I see these thing.”

  “What . . . things?” asked Alison in a curious but polite tone.

  “Well, Lorenz say you orphans, but I not agree, no. No mother put love and kindness in children and then leave. It be like walking away from . . . good investment. You find your way back to her, not worry.” The woman seemed so simple in her understanding of the world, but her logic made Ben smile.

  “We desperately want to leave,” said Alison. She cast about to see if anyone was within earshot. “But I don’t think we could find our way out of here.”

  “Yes, tricky network of tunnels to get out,” said Ming. “I always go with someone who know the way. But most time I just stay down here. So much safer in Strand.”

  Just then, the steel door moaned. The guard stood aside to let a bunch of kids through and then he slammed the door shut again. Four kids stomped into the light, their clothes torn and their faces filthy. One of them had a bloody gash across his forehead. Another was clutching his ribs.

  “I’m sick of his crap,” said the kid with the cut head. “I’m done with this place. You guys with me?” There was a hesitant murmur of agreement among his friends.

  Behind the group, Lorenz walked out of the shadows in a slow, exaggerated swagger. When the other three were about twenty feet away, he stopped. He scratched the back of his head and made a face as if he had just eaten something extremely unpleasant. “Keelo, hold on,” he called.

  “What?” said the kid with the cut forehead. He spun around and faced Lorenz. His three cohorts lingered behind him, unsure where to stand. Like hyenas catching the whiff of a fresh kill, all the other kids in the Strand came running over and in seconds a ring of spectators had assembled around Lorenz and Keelo. Keelo’s three companions backed away and dissolved into the crowd.

  “You have real nerve, Keelo,” said Lorenz. “After I saved you from the Butares.”

  “I’m sick of your rules,” said Keelo. “Who put you in charge? I never see you do anything. All you do is make everyone else do the the dangerous work. I almost got shot today.”

  Lorenz smiled and looked at the ceiling. “Oh, you have a say, Keelo.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “Sure you do. You can either obey me or die.”

  “Sounds real fair.”

  “Come here, Keelo,” said Lorenz. The kid stepped forward tentatively. “I tell you what. I will give you one chance to hit me. Uno chingaso. Make it good.” Keelo immediately tensed his fists and brought them up to eye level. Just as Keelo was about to throw a punch at Lorenz, Lorenz grabbed his fist and twisted it behind Keelo’s back. Keelo’s face contorted in a silent scream and there was the splintering wood sound of multiple bones snapping. It happened so quickly that it was like Lorenz had grabbed a bird out of the air and crushed it in his hand in one movement. A second later, Keelo lay spasming on the ground, staring at his contorted, gnarled hand.

  Lorenz’s eyes swept across the room. He hissed through his sharpened teeth, “Who is next?”

  The crowd of kids exploded in a roar of satisfaction. A guttural, primal chant pulsed through the group. Lor-enz! Lor-enz! Lor-enz!

  Lorenz straightened his arms at his sides and stood in stoic approval of the scene. “Basho, dispose of this chavala,” he said. Basho obediently came forward and grabbed Keelo by the shirt collar. As Basho dragged Keelo out the door, Keelo gave out a small, pitiful moan. The door was opened and then shut.

  “So, are there any more pussies out there?” asked Lorenz. But the crowd was still cheering at Lorenz’s display of power. Lorenz smiled and nodded. “Okay then. Back to work.”

  Chapter Fourteen: A Pheasant and a Goat

  As their weeks in captivity began to accumulate like the dust that was everywhere in the Strand, the four children gradually resigned themselves to their fate below the city. They became immersed in the work of the cavern, with Ben and Thomas helping Basho and Jawl so that the jagged heap of parts did in fact begin to look like some sort of armored vehicle. Much to Ben’s annoyance, Thomas was teaching him how to use the welding torch to stitch pieces of metal together. And much to Ben’s surprise, he was getting pretty good at it. Alison and Hannah continued helping Ming catalogue the Strand’s new acquisitions, but they spent most of their days listening to Ming’s stories with no end.

  Lately, the other kids had been bringing back more expensive looking items, and the cavern had started to look more like the home of a movie star than the refuge of a children’s’ militia. There were huge, wild paintings hanging on the walls, intricate Persian rugs, blinking stacks of electronics that did god knows what, and also crates and crates of exotic weapons. It was fascinating in a way, but it did nothing to hide the fact that the four Graham children were trapped below ground and held captive by a maniacal man-child with six-inch black spikes for hair.

  Each morning Lorenz would discuss the day’s activities, who would be doing which bit of thievery or sabotage, and then teams of kids, usually groups of four or five, would depart in waves. When Lorenz himself left, it was usually on missions that sounded quite a bit safer than the others’, which no one commented on. Nor did anyone ever mention the fact that Lorenz had a girlfriend hanging off his arm, while the others appeared to live under monkish orders of emotional deprivation. Some days Jawl and Basho would also disappear, leaving Ben and Thomas to work on the tunnel runner themselves. Cabra came and went on his own terms and was apparently some sort of advance sentry on the streets of the city. But Ming never left. She was scared of the outside world’s bizarre logic that had somehow made her children sell her off for video games.

  In the evening they would all gather for dinner and hear reports from the various “members” about what was going on up on the surface. (Lorenz was at pains to describe his army as an anarchic-socialist collective composed of individual share-holding members.) By the sounds of it, some of the kids were doing surveillance on the police to determine if they were close to detecting the location of the Strand. Another group was monitoring the preparations for the new Children’s Facility being built. It sounded like Lorenz was planning to sabotage its construction.

  Nights were one giant party. Cases of liquor were cracked open, and the thumping music turned up. While everyone danced, sang, and yelled the night away, the four Graham children would quietly retire to their bunks. They talked about their memories of their previous life in that old apartment, as far above the city as they were now below it.

  One evening, the Graham children, Ming, and Cabra were already seated around the huge dinner table when the rest of the Miscreants came in drenched. Just the thought of a downpour made Ben itch for the refreshment of rain running down his face.

  “Damn weird weather out there,” said Jawl, wringing his long hair in front of him like a towel. He plopped down at the table and tucked into a massive plate of fried chicken, which was all he ever ate. “Haven’t seen clouds like that ‘cept out on the open ocean years ago,” he explained from behind a greasy drumstick. “Somethin’ going on--there be a mutha of a storm gatherin’ out there. Betcha there’s gonna be some suh-weet waves comin in.”

  Cabra quickly offered his explanation from behind his lamb and potatoes. “Jus’ like I said it would, jus like I said it would, mark my word, I said. Smog so thick you can put it on toast, and now these big storms coming through. I tell you, it all means something. We’ve been buggering about with this planet for too long and I know who’s to blame for this wacky weather.” He shook his head in silence and went back to poking at his dinner.

  “Oh, everything Milagro fault, right?” said Ming, using the high-pitched screech she reserved for her most passionate exclamations of perceived injustice. “All part of big conspiracy, right?”

  “Well, Ming, he makes a video game so addictive that yer own children would rather play it than have their mother around. I betcha he can do all sorts of things.”

  “Yes, w
ell I not blame them, of course. Not their fault.”

  “And you better believe Milagro can make the weather go crazy, messin’ around with the clouds. Haven’t ye heard about this new matter slicing machine he’s got going? Cuts right through the earth. If somebody doesn’t stop Milagro, he’s liable to rearrange the whole bloody universe. Lissen to yerself, old woman. Yer talking nonsense. One minute yer blaming these bleepin’ video games for ruining yer kids, an the next yer defending the very man who makes ‘em. I think you really need to get out. Ye been cooped up in here too long.”

  “Ya well, you talk.” Ming’s mouth was full of rice and she was now jabbing her chopsticks at Cabra to further emphasize her point. “How people change weather? Impossible! So, Cabra, if you so smart, see into future like you say you do, you explain. How Milagro change weather? Huh?”

  The Graham children were following this back and forth argument like a tennis match, but everyone else had apparently heard it before.

  “Ming, I have no idea,” said Cabra with a shake of his head. “But the world is falling apart and he’s the one with all the power.”

  “Impossible! People only do so much and you try to say one man is devil, like you say he inventing all this cancer stuff--how that possible?”

  “Sush, Ming!” said Cabra with a sideways look at Basho. Everyone went quiet. Despite his size, Basho had come in during the argument between Ming and Cabra without Ming noticing. With the exception of Lorenz, it seemed that almost everyone was now seated at the table.

  “I sorry, Basho. I forget,” said Ming. “I not realize you here.”

  “Naw, that’s okay, Ming,” said Basho. “I don’t mind talking about it.” He rubbed his cheek with his hand. “I jus figure it’s as natural a thing as life itself. Everybody’s gotta die, you see.”

  “Look, uh, Basho,” said Cabra. “I know I’m some sort of, uh, mystical man, but maybe you should see a doctor. Maybe there’s something that, ye know, can be done.”

  “I think that maybe it’s just meant to be,” said Basho as he stared into the depths of his beer. “You see, I seen so many things that just don’t make sense. There’s gotta be some logic to it all that we jus’ don’t see. Stuff behind the scenes. Like how I’d be out there on the battlefield doin’ these crazy missions and then I got to realize that those sorts of decisions are made millions of miles away by someone I never knew. I figure it’s the same way with other things, too. But you can’t really think about that stuff, now can you? You gotta have a certain faith about it all, I suppose. Or you go bonkers, you see.”

  No one seemed to know what to say, whether Basho needed comforting or whether they should try to add to his philosophical thoughts. But before anyone spoke, Lorenz stomped into the room. He took a cigar out of his mouth and cleared his throat.

  “Alright, listen up, maggots,” said Lorenz. “We have just received word that the police are preparing excavation equipment and are going to begin digging in all the areas where they think there might be tunnels. It is unfortunately therefore only a matter of time before they find us. Tomorrow we will be mounting a raid on the site of the new Children’s Facility. To remind them once more of our abilities. Now, Jawl, how many Tunnel Runners will be ready for tomorrow?”

  “Ehhh, well . . . see,” said Jawl as he scratched under his hat, “there’s the two finished ones, right, but the new one we still need to get some a them, uh, panels on the sides and we haven’t quite worked out the, uh, weapons interface yet.”

  “I will take that as two, then,” said Lorenz. “Keep in mind that you now have four members working on the third machine and from my point of view you have made minimal progress. This new carrucha that you told me would be ready weeks ago still looks like a piece of basura. After dinner I will speak more about the exact plans for tomorrow. Now I am going to eat. Delfa, what was acquired for my dinner today?”

  Delfa, the small but tough looking girl who appeared to be Lorenz’s girlfriend, quickly came forward in a white chef’s apron. She had the same fatigued and dirty face as everyone else, but her green eyes sparkled and her hair curled around her ears like some sort of winged sprite from their mother’s stories. “Tonight, General Lorenz,” she said, “we will begin with goat cheese, roasted garlic and sundried tomato crustinis, and our salad will be radicchio and watercress with a mango vinaigrette.” Delfa used the words we and our, even though it was clear that it was only Lorenz who would be enjoying this meal. “As our main course,” continued Delfa, “we will be enjoying roasted pheasant with a rosemary jus, served over grilled seasonal vegetables and potatoes. For dessert, your favorite, once again, I’m afraid: creme brule.”

  “Excellente!” said Lorenz. “Tell me, though, if you would not mind, about where some of these items were, uh, acquired.”

  “Oh, well. The vegetables were repossessed from the garden of a very wealthy man who works in production in Hollywood, and the pheasant was liberated from the kitchen of that new French restaurant that went in on Rodeo Drive.” It was obviously weird that the Miscreants would be eating such exquisite food when Lorenz was always arguing about the plight of poor children locked away in orphanages, yet the four Graham children never heard anyone say anything about it.

  “Perfect. Please begin our first course, Delfa.” Lorenz grabbed her bum as she walked away.

  All the other dinners were brought in. Before the plates had even touched down, Hannah was drooling like a dog. Even though there was a wide range of foods to eat, Ben, Alison, Thomas, and Hannah always ended up eating the dishes their mother used to make. Maybe it was a fragment of loneliness that they couldn’t suppress, or maybe it was a bit of guilt knowing that all the food was stolen, but that night, much to the amusement of the others with their seared tuna and grilled steak, the Graham kids all sheepishly asked for macaroni and cheese.

  Before he ate, Lorenz stood up, took a delicate sip of wine, and cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Now, everyone, as you enjoy tonight’s acquisitions, let us take a second to remember our cause of justice and freedom for all. Never lose sight of what we are fighting for. Bon appetite!”

  Ben was about to dive into the steaming food, but at the last second turned to notice Alison grimacing at Lorenz.

  “I’m sorry, Lorenz,” said Alison, “but maybe you can tell me where exactly your food comes from?” Everyone stopped and stared at Alison, and there was the clatter of fine cutlery hitting the mahogany table.

  “Oh, hush, child,” said Cabra as he stabbed at a piece of smoked salmon. “We’ve worked hard. We deserve this.”

  “Expropriation of resources, Alison,” said Lorenz in a calm and official tone, his mouth full of food. “It is not needed by those who waste so much else.”

  “It is obviously stolen,” said Alison.

  Lorenz smiled before pouring himself another glass of wine. “Well, Alison, you do not have to say it like that. Where did you think it was coming from?”

  Alison ground her teeth. “I could be wrong, but I think most people have to buy their food. It makes no sense to be eating like . . . like kings when you’re fighting for some sort of social justice.”

  “The nobility of our quest entitles us to these luxuries,” said Lorenz simply. At this, numerous other children voiced their support for Lorenz’s logic by pounding on the table with their fists.

  “And you enslave kids to fight Milagro because he enslaves kids,” said Alison. “It makes no sense.”

  Lorenz huffed a surprised, almost impressed laugh, but let Alison continue.

  “And all the stuff you’re stealing, that you say you’re going to give away . . . you’re just keeping it for yourself.”

  “Listen, Alison,” said Lorenz with downcast chuckle as if he were talking to a child, “your silly, antiquated notions of right and wrong are quite humorous. We are merely redistributing wealth in a manner that is much more pragmatic than what the system currently provides. Once we work out the proper method for redistrib--”


  “That’s a bunch of nonsense and you know it. You’re only trying to use big words to make it sound acceptable.”

  As much as he agreed with Alison, Ben was getting a little uncomfortable. What on earth was she trying to prove? “Alison, of course it’s stealing,” said Ben quietly, his hand covering his mouth. “Maybe we shouldn’t be discussing this right now.”

  “No, Ben. I want to say this,” said Alison, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Lorenz, I don’t believe this nonsense you’re telling everyone. No matter how noble you think your quest is, stealing is never acceptable.”

  Lorenz turned to the other kids with an open-mouthed smile that seemed to say, can you believe this girl? “Look, Alison, there are factories of organized child labor all over the country--all run by Milagro--and unless we fight for our . . . our freedom, we will all be forced to make clothing and furniture and god knows what else they have got them making now. This is the truth. La neta verdad.” Shaking his head, Lorenz went back to eating his dinner.

  “I don’t believe you,” said Alison. “You blame everything on this Milagro person, and we still don’t know who he is. We’re doing all this work here and we’re just going on your word that he is the most evil person in the universe. Show me the proof. Convince me.” Alison sat there stoically, her arms crossed and her eyes focused on Lorenz. The room went silent.

  “Hit her,” whispered someone.

  Lorenz considered this for a moment. “Okay,” he sighed. He picked up a white cloth napkin and dotted at the corners of his mouth. He ambled over to Alison in slow, tense movements, and then bared his teeth in a bizarre smile. “Since you are so . . . innocent, Alison, I will entertain your ignorance. How can we prove this to you? Sometimes the most obvious things are the most difficult to find evidence for.”

  “Well, I bet we could see some updates on the bee epidemic on the ol’ TV,” offered Jawl.

  “Good idea, Jawl,” said Lorenz. “Go find that old piece of crap.” Jawl went out into the cavern and could be heard kicking through the junk piles.