Mayhem and Mutiny

by Charissa Dufour

  They reached a busy street marking the end of his territory. Randal withdrew his weapon, aiming at the girl’s head.

  “We have a weapon trained on her. If you attack us, we will kill her,” Oden called before releasing the girl and pushing her toward her waiting father.

  She stumbled away, tripping as she hurried to her father. At the same time, the crew crossed the busy street. Cars honked, some swerving to miss them, others zooming upward to fly over them. They picked up their pace and reached the far side of the street, disappearing into a dark alley.

  Calen was the first to speak once they stopped running. “I can’t believe we survived that.”

  “Oden, how did you know she was his daughter? Was it really those bracelets on her ankles?”

  “They’re not bracelets. They don’t come off. And when I was a teenager, and my adoptive parents lost interest in me, I spent some time in a gang like Rudy’s. The leader marked his women the same way. Besides, she had his eyes.”

  The other men laughed breathlessly, all tired from their sprint.

  Jack let out a long sigh as he straightened from his stooped position. “If we ever find Bit, remind me to ring her neck.”

  “I’ll help,” said Oden.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nathyn followed Blaine while Forrest and Jeremiah kept up the rear. They were close to the cantina where the bartender knew Bit, and therefore they were running out of time. A plan was beginning to form in Nathyn’s mind, but he needed a way to communicate it to the other two.

  “Hey, Blaine,” he called, trying to stall. “Why don’t we stop for some food?”

  “There’s food at the cantina.”

  “Yeah, but we lose some of our gusto if we have to stop the interrogation for food.”

  Blaine stopped in his tracks, looking back at Nathyn. “Good thought.”

  Nathyn breathed a sigh of relief, fearing Blaine would wonder why he was suddenly being helpful.

  The tall man scanned the nearby buildings, looking over the heads of the crowd. Nathyn ground his teeth together. He was tired of having strangers pressed up against him wherever he walked—or rather tried to walk. Is every city on Earth this crowded?

  “There’s a restaurant. We’ll go there,” he said pointing to the edge of the street.

  Nathyn glanced at Forrest and Jer, giving them a look he hoped they could translate. It said, I have a plan.

  They reached the restaurant and took a seat, squeezing into a small booth while Blaine stood. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  He dropped his pack on his seat and walked away.

  “You have a plan?” Forrest whispered.

  “We need to drug him. Knock him out and drag him up to the ship for Jack to deal with.”

  Forrest and Jer nodded in unison.

  “With what?” asked Jer.

  The three men sat in silence for a minute.

  “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this,” continued Jeremiah, “but what about the date rape drug.”

  “I thought they stopped production of that,” said Forrest.

  “Even if they didn’t stop making it, where would we find it… and find it before we get to the cantina.”

  Jeremiah nodded. “All good questions.”

  “What about a baseball bat?” asked Forrest.

  Nathyn grinned at him. “Don’t tempt me.”

  Before anyone could respond, the waitress arrived, laying out a plate of food.

  “Evidently there’s not a lot of selection,” joked Jeremiah as he poked the strangely shaped bits of meat skewered by thin sticks. “Are those rats?”

  “I suspect there is a food shortage in the city,” replied Forrest as he picked up a stick and took a big bite.

  Jeremiah slowly grabbed his own Rodent-on-a-Stick and took a small nibble. Nathyn followed out of desperation. He was starving. After a few bites, he glanced at Blaine’s pack, resting in his empty seat.

  “Uh, guys…” he began, scanning the tiny restaurant. “Where’s Blaine.”

  “He went to the bathroom,” Jeremiah said through a mouthful of charbroiled rat.

  “Yeah. But how long does it take to take a piss?” asked Nathyn

  Forrest and Jeremiah stared at him, their mouths full. Nathyn watched as recognition dawned on their features.

  The security guard let out a tired sigh. “I’ll go check the bathroom.”

  Nathyn slid out of the booth and went to the back of the restaurant. At the back, he found a waitress.

  “Where’s your bathroom?”

  “We don’t have public restrooms.”

  Nathyn glanced around. “Do you have a back exit?”

  The waitress nodded, looking at him like he was insane before heading back into the kitchen. The smell of cooking meat invaded his nose. Nathyn grimaced before returning to the table.

  “There is no bathroom here,” he said, grabbing up Blaine’s pack and riffling through it; all he found was a change of clothing.

  Forrest and Jeremiah were silent for a few minutes while Nathyn searched his pack. Finally, Jeremiah spoke, “At least we know where he’s going.”

  “Unless he changed his mind when he realized we were working against him,” offered Forrest.

  Nathyn flung some money on the table and grabbed the last rat. “Let’s go. Our best guess is the cantina.”

  Limping into a small alcove, Bit stopped and leaned against the wall of the building. On reaching the ground, she had pushed her body back into a run, charging through the six-inch deep water. The water dragged on her legs, making it even harder to keep her pace up, but she ignored the pain in her body and pushed on.

  Now, though, she had nothing left. The only thing keeping her on her feet was the murky, brown water below her. Had the ground been dry, she would have sunk down to her rump and gone straight to sleep.

  “Keep moving,” she ordered herself. “Keep moving.”

  She dragged herself out of the darkened alcove. Since Wic had nabbed her, the sun had long set and the city’s nightlife had emerged despite the standing water—almost as though it was a normal occurrence. As she limped through the street, she spotted a few police officers heading in her direction.

  Bit tried to keep her gait natural, but the pain in her knee made it impossible. She limped as the officers passed her.

  “Did that girl have dreadlocks?” she heard one ask.

  “I don’t know. Who cares?”

  “No, there was something on the net about an escaped I.S. with white dreadlocks.”

  Bit felt her heart thump painfully through her chest. Jack turned me in? she wondered in shock. A pain that had nothing to do with her injuries gripped her chest, making it hard to breathe. She thought she had known Jack better than that. While he might have come to find her, she never thought he would bring the government into it. Jack knew what the ramification of the law was. He knew how a formal report would impact her. Right?

  At the first intersection, she turned and slipped into the first unlocked door she could find, moving as though on autopilot.

  Pressing her ear against the door, she heard the police talking as they passed her hiding spot.

  “Are you sure about this I.S.?”

  “Yes, I remember thinking the description was strange. No one wears dreadlocks anymore. Not even a servant.”

  “Still, it’s dark. You can’t be sure that girl had ratted hair.”

  “Sure looked like it to me. C’mon.”

  Bit held her breath until they passed, once again hating her mussed hair.

  I should just cut it all off, she grumbled to herself, though the thought of shearing her head brought an ache to her heart alongside the one Jack had built.

  Bit stayed behind the door for another few minutes before slipping out. She hurried to the main street and picked up her pace. Problem was, after the recent flash flood, the police were out in droves, checking to make sure no one had been injured.

  She made it two more blocks before she
spotted another team wandering through the streets, out and available for anyone who needed help after the storm. Bit slipped up a set of stairs and into a shop, one of the few that hadn’t been damaged by the rain.

  “Close in ten,” the owner announced from behind the counter.

  Bit nodded at him before hobbling deeper into the narrow store. Like so many stores in the slums of Johannesburg—or any major city on Earth—it mostly sold second-hand items. It had been nearly fifty years since anyone on Earth produced new merchandise… unless it was pieces for the shipyard orbiting the planet. Between the increase of population and general poverty, no one was interested in new clothing or new Tupperware. The old stuff would do.

  The store did have one little display of first aid supplies—one of the few things that couldn’t be reused. Bit splurged on a tiny bottle of painkillers. She was just about to turn back to the counter when the door alert jingled. Bit glanced up at the mirror poised over the door. Two officers sauntered in, glancing at the front counter where the owner kept whatever foodstuffs he had for sale that week.

  Bit slipped behind a tall case of kitchenware and shuffled down to the end. Holding her breath, she listened for signs of movement.

  “How are you, Ayo?” one of the officers asked.

  “Oh, I’m good, sir. No complaints,” replied the shop owner, sounding happier than he likely felt.

  Bit had put a smile on for the police many times. No one liked them, even respectable shop owners. Then again, for all Bit knew, Ayo might hide a drug dealer behind his façade. In the slums, one took nothing at face value.

  Still, everyone knew how much power the police wielded. They might not do anything about organized crime, but they wouldn’t hesitate to throw you behind bars for a snide remark. And they could, just because they felt like it. No need for a hearing or evidence of a crime.

  Bit’s mind ran to Mars. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a far cry from Earth.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “I’ve got a headache,” announced the second officer. “I’m gonna go get some meds.”

  Bit listened to his thudding tread and slipped around the display at the last second, barely staying out of the officer’s line of sight. The police officer eyed the shelf of medical supplies for a few minutes before grabbing what he wanted and heading back to the front of the store. Bit eased around the end of the shelf, watching his retreating back. When he made another turn, she slipped the rest of the way back into her hiding place.

  As he walked back to the counter, Bit released the breath she had been holding. Her heart beat against her chest so hard she was certain the others could hear it from the front of the shop.

  A few minutes later, the police paid for their purchase and sauntered back out into the flood waters. Bit counted to thirty before crossing back to the counter and paying for her pain medication. She popped a pill in her mouth and swallowed it dry.

  The shopkeeper eyed her, no doubt realizing she had stayed tucked away while the police were busy, but he didn’t say anything. Shop owners would be swiftly out of business if they narced on criminals in their neighborhood. Most slum neighborhoods were ruled by one gang or another of criminals.

  Bit paid, tucked the bottle into her pack, and limped out of the shop, checking first to make sure the officers were well away. She continued down the street toward the train station, hoping to catch a ride during the nighttime lull. If she didn’t, it would take her all night to walk—or limp—to Alberton, the suburb Douglas had been calling from during their last mission. Since her other attempts to track him had failed, this was her last resort.

  Bit felt a hot tear run down her cheek. My leg hurts, she told herself, refusing to believe it came from Jack’s betrayal. She had no doubt her captain was mad at her for stealing and running, but some portion of her had always believed Jack would understand in the end. She had never imagined he would treat her like a normal Indentured Servant and inform the government of her crimes. Now, even if she turned herself in, her crimes would cost her yet more debt.

  You’re not that special, a voice in her mind told her. It’s not like he loves you like family. You’re just property to him.

  She wiped the tear away with an angry swipe. My leg hurts.

  Bit was nearing the station when she heard a voice behind her. “There she is.”

  Bit launched herself into a run without looking back, the medication dulling the pain in her knee.

  “Shit, she’s running.”

  She heard the splashing of their boots in the water. Within minutes, Bit was out of breath, fighting the receding waters. She turned down an alley and jumped through the first doorway. Unlike the other buildings in Soweto, this one appeared to be new construction. Though the iron structure was in place, very little of the interior had been finished. Bit slipped through the gap between two struts and turned into the portion of the building with the beginnings of a finished interior. She found a staircase and headed upward, just as she heard wet boots squishing on the first floor.

  On the second floor, she weaved through the construction, tripping over a discarded tool box. The tools clattered against the flooring as she bit back a curse. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes as new bruises began to form on her legs.

  For a short moment, she considered just staying there. Her body begged her to just give up, but a brief image of a baby wrapped in scraps of dirty cloth gave her muscles new strength.

  Bit gimped to the edge of the building, careful not to trip over anything else. At the edge, she grabbed the vertical I-beam and using her feet, carefully slid back down toward the ground. After the first foot or so, she lost control and fell into the water.

  Though the water broke her fall, the impact jarred her already aching body. Using the supports of the new building, Bit dragged her body upward. She leaned against the I-beam for a second before pushing off and shuffling through the water.

  Bit hobbled down the street and into the first alleyway she found. Tucked in the alleyway, she found a short set of stairs leading up to a recessed door. Sitting on the steps, Bit stretched her leg out and leaned back against the door, content to wait the night out and let her leg rest.

  If the police found her, then they found her. She had nothing left.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blaine stepped into the cantina. It looked just as it had when the crew visited three days ago, except it was empty. At five in the morning not a lot of establishments would still have clientele. Blaine sauntered in, forcing himself to swagger in a way he didn’t feel.

  He didn’t want to torture this man, just as he hadn’t wanted to kill the woman at Morgan Reactors.

  But he would continue to do whatever it took to find Bit—and that included killing. After all, she had killed before. She would understand. She would forgive him.

  “We’re closed,” came a voice from behind the counter as a head appeared; it was the owner.

  “I’m not here for a drink.”

  “Well, I don’t care what you’re here for. We’re closed.”

  “My captain talked to you a few days ago about an Indentured Servant who’s run away,” Blaine said as he carefully set his handgun down on the counter, the muzzle pointed at the other man.

  “Right. Bit. I told him, I ain’t seen her in months.”

  “See, I don’t think you’re telling me the truth. I think you know where she is, and I think you’re going to tell me.”

  The owner of the cantina stared at him, his eyes growing wide with fright.

  “Now, I hate to be cliché, but we can do this the hard way or the easy way.”

  “Like I said, I ain’t seen Bit in months. It’s the truth.”

  Blaine felt the rage build up in him. In one swift move, he picked up the pistol and slammed it into the owner’s head, right above his temple. The man collapsed across the bar. Blaine grabbed his shirt and dragged him over the bar and into a chair. He used some rope found in the back room and tied the man to the chair before grabbing
a bowl of water. It wasn’t very cold, but he doubted it needed to be.

  Without ceremony, Blaine dumped the water on the man’s head. He jerked awake, sputtering as the water ran down his face.

  Blaine pulled out his knife, and with slow, deliberate moves cut the buttons off the man’s shirt, patterned with naked women. The owner shook with each flick of Blaine’s knife, showing more fear than the woman he had already killed.

  “Ssshhh shhh,” Blaine cooed. “All you have to do is tell me where Bit is.”

  “I told you, you psycho! I ain’t seen hide nor hair o’ Bit.”

  Blaine slowly ran his knife down the man’s hairy chest. Not hard enough to break the skin. It was a light touch. Just enough to tickle his nerves and make his heart race.

  “Please. I don’t know where she is!”

  Tears began to stream down his pudgy face as he realized Blaine meant business.

  I’m doing this for Bit, Blaine told himself before he pressed his knife into the man’s gut, cutting just a few layers of skin.

  The man wailed and Blaine clamped his hand over his mouth. He didn’t know who else might be in the building.

  “Now, now. No crying. Just tell me where she is.”

  The owner shook his head under Blaine’s hand, more tears leaking down over Blaine’s fingers.

  Before Blaine could do anything, the door burst open. Blaine let out a long, exasperated sigh as he glanced over his shoulder to find Nathyn, Forrest, and Jeremiah barging in.

  “Let him go,” Nathyn ordered.

  Blaine climbed to his feet. “He’s gonna tell us where Bit is.”

  “Like the woman you killed already? Did she know where Douglas was? Are you gonna kill him?”

  “If he doesn’t tell me what I want to hear.”

  “He might tell you where Bit is, but how can you trust him,” argued Nathyn. “He might just be saying it to get you to stop.”