by MK Clark
Pepito left them in an abandoned parking garage in what was clearly the poor part of the city. Pepito told them to wait there; he would be back. None of them felt comfortable with this, but they hadn’t felt comfortable with anything the boy had done so far, so this was nothing new.
When the boy had been gone for a minute, Luke turned to Don, the strange look still on his face. “Don,” his voice carried a note of urgency, “I don’t think we can trust him.”
Don frowned at Luke’s words. Guy’s interest piqued, and he fixed his gaze on the boy. Luke continued quietly, “He’s a Street, Don.”
Don started, and then forced himself to relax. “How do you know?”
Luke rubbed his hands together. It was colder in the shade of the garage. “The military are the ones searching for us. Why would he want to hide us from ‘em if he wasn’t a rebel? He’s also well-fed for someone who lives out here.” Luke paused. “An’ I just have this feeling about him. I think he knows I know, too.”
Guy ground his teeth together. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”
Don looked between the two, then stood. The others followed suit, pulling Tony up from where he sat.
“Where are you going?”
They all turned. Pepito stood near a door in the wall, accompanied by five men. Guy swore quietly. Don heard Luke whisper a warning to him. There were men behind them, as well; they were all armed.
Tony coughed, grabbing Don’s shoulder for support, breaking the tense silence between the two factions. “Your friend is sick,” one of the men said. “Come with us quietly, and we will help him.”
Don stood still for a moment. They were going to be forced to go anyway, so why not go with the promise of help? Even if they did try to resist, none of them had the energy to win. The survival training over the past few days had taken its toll on them.
He finally nodded and started forward slowly. The other three followed him in silence. They heard footsteps and knew more men were bringing up the rear. Don got five feet from their captors before stopping. The men pulled rope out of a bag and tied Don's and the others’ hands together, then proceeded to blindfold them. Don could hear Guy muttering under his breath as someone took hold of his forearm.
“This way,” a voice said in his ear.
Don stumbled slightly as they started forward but quickly got his feet under him. He recognized the voice as Pepito’s. Tony coughed, and Don tilted his head in his friend’s direction.
“He’ll be taken care of,” Pepito whispered. “I swear.”
Don couldn’t help a bitter laugh. “Coming from you, that isn’t reassuring.”
They stopped, and Pepito answered. “I did exactly what I said I would. I got you away from the people chasing you.” The footsteps in front of them started again, and Pepito pushed Don forward, steering him on a path invisible to Don.
After a while they stopped again, and Pepito let his hand drop from Don’s arm. He could hear the men breathing around him. Pepito and his friends hadn’t left, but they were all waiting for something. They stood for a long time, quiet conversation picking up around him, but it was too quiet for him to hear.
“You should sit,” Pepito said to him. “There’s a wall behind you.”
“I’m fine,” Don answered.
“You can hardly stand,” Pepito shot back.
Don paused. The picture of his trembling hand holding out a voucher flashed through his mind. “I’m fine,” Don said again, but this time with a little uncertainty.
Pepito didn’t answer. Don heard a door open, and someone entered the room. “Which one?” a man asked.
“Here,” Pepito said.
“Let me look at him.”
The blindfold dropped, and Don blinked rapidly. His eyes watered, even though the lighting in the room was dim. A tall, broad-shouldered figure moved. Don took a step back, muscles tense, wary of what he could hardly see. The movement made his knees buckle, and Pepito’s hand grabbed his arm.
“Told you,” Pepito grunted.
The figure stopped a few feet from Don, and he looked up at where the face should be, still unable to focus his eyes.
“It’s him,” the man said. “A little worse for wear, but it’s him. Congratulations, Pepito, you’ve caught yourself the major general’s son.”
Don swore as hands tightened on his arms. Someone clapped a cloth around his mouth and nose, and then the ground rushed up to meet him, swallowing his consciousness.
Chapter 10
November 6, 625 T.A.
Don woke slowly. He was sore and tired. He didn’t know where he was or what was going on. He blinked a few times, fighting against his heavy eyelids until he was finally staring into his own lap. Earlier events surfaced from the depths of his mind, shedding light on his predicament. Don struggled to bring his head up, gravity almost proving itself greater than his weary muscles.
He leaned his head against a hard surface and sat still, forcing his eyes to stay open. His immediate surroundings consisted of brown sandbags and a concrete wall forming a small room. He was sitting in a corner where the bags and the wall met.
Opposite him was an opening that Don supposed served as a door. Luke and Guy leaned against the sandbags to his right, eyes closed, mouths opened slightly. The makeshift wall stopped a few feet above the boys’ heads. Beyond that, Don couldn’t see much. Concrete ceiling and walls faded to shadows from the lights near the floor.
Don stirred and grimaced, his shoulders throbbing painfully, hands still tied behind him. He straightened his back and pushed his feet away, stretching his cramped muscles. His eyes caught on a figure beside him. Tony lay still, chest rising and falling beneath a blanket. His breath rattled softly through cracked lips discolored by dried blood. Don looked at his other two companions again. Their faces were tense beneath their fatigued sleep.
He tried to recall what he knew and what he’d been told about their captors. Luke had called the boy a Street, but there had been adults, as well. While they all worked toward the same goal and perhaps even lived together and considered themselves one group, Don had always heard them referred to by two different names: Streets for the children and Freemen for the adults.
He could never remember anything good being said about them, except by Luke. Luke had always sympathized with them, although he’d never outright said so. Don understood that. Luke was not a citizen under the Council’s rule. He was exactly what the Freemen and Streets were, but for him it was legal.
Don remembered his first conversation with Luke about the Suits and the Streets. He’d told Luke it seemed like a lot of trouble to learn to fight. Later, he’d questioned Luke about the logistics of it. It hadn’t made sense to him why the Council would train a potential enemy to fight. Luke had told him that he’d been forced to sign an agreement stating the Council could keep tabs on him for the rest of his life after Basic. All non-citizens were required to do this if they chose to join the Council’s military forces, or opted to go to Basic Training. This way, the Council protected itself from educating terrorists.
Don hadn’t questioned him earlier when Luke told them Pepito couldn’t be trusted. Still, he had wondered why Luke, who believed in their cause, would deem a Street untrustworthy. Now Don understood. Luke must have realized the rebels would recognize Don for what he was and use him.
It had been months since he’d been referred to as the major general’s son. Once his company’s initial surprise had worn off, and Don’s insistence on being treated like anyone else was deemed sincere, the other boys had complied. He’d become accustomed to being treated normally and had pushed everything else into a far corner of his mind, a corner so far that he’d been unable to recognize the trap until it was sprung. People would do anything for money or power, and his father had both.
Don closed his eyes and thought for a moment. Now that he was awake, the sandbags pressed uncomfortably into his back. Don paused, an idea coming to him. Tentatively, he pushed against the bags. They didn’t
move, so he added pressure. When he was pushing against them as hard as he could, and they still held firm, Don stopped clenching his jaw against the pain in his shoulders. He brushed off his disappointment. He hadn’t really thought it would work. Besides, he hadn’t had a plan to escape if it did. He couldn’t just leave the others here. He was the one who’d gotten them into this mess in the first place. He sighed. At least no one was standing over them with a gun. Don pulled his feet underneath him, then leaned against the wall for stability and took a deep breath.
“Up you go,” he said to himself, flexed his leg muscles, and stood shakily. His head swam in response. When it stopped, he caught sight of two Freemen sitting right outside the front wall. They stared at him levelly, neither one moving from his relaxed position. Don looked away from them to the rest of the room.
Over the wall, which stood at chest-level, he could see what looked like a large room. The ceiling was low throughout, and the room was full of what looked like makeshift tents and rooms put together from scraps of cloth and construction material. Fires lit here and there for warmth had small groups standing around them. He could see people conversing and laughing, although the sound did not reach his ears. Everyone Don saw had a visible weapon of some kind on their person, and he was sure they had more hidden.
Don looked down at his feet. Time to test his movement capabilities. He took a step and nearly fell as his muscles tried to give out on him. He used the wall to steady himself and then sank back to the ground in resignation. He stared moodily between his knees at the opposite wall.
“Stupid,” he whispered, “stupid, stupid, stupid.” Each word was accompanied by the thud of his head against the back wall.
“No use beating yourself up about it, friend.” Don tensed, his head swiveling to face Pepito. The boy was standing in the opening to the half-room. “And I really did see your pals get taken, so I pretty much was your only hope.”
“No offense,” Don replied, “but I think I would have rather gotten picked up by the other guys.”
“Understandable,” Pepito said. He squatted down a few feet from Don and nodded toward his three companions. “You guys are pretty beat. If you look on the bright side, it’s probably better we found you. It doesn’t look like you could have made it much farther on your own.”
“Sorry,” Don said, shaking his head slightly. “Not quite seeing the benefit here.”
Pepito shrugged. “So what were you guys doing out there?”
Suddenly, Don became wary of the boy. The Freemen were probably taking advantage of his youth and his open, friendly nature to get information. At first, the conversation would be harmless, but Don already knew this boy was crafty. He pressed his lips together and looked away. Pepito shook his head and smiled. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to take offense. You don’t want to talk about it, let’s talk about something else.”
“Let’s not,” Don shot back.
“It’s just a friendly conversation.”
Don shot him a skeptical look. “I’m sure.”
Pepito’s smile widened. “You know, for some reason, I like you.”
“Oh, good,” Don interrupted. “Does that mean you’re going to untie me and my friends and let us go?” Pepito shook his head, chuckling slightly. “Then you’re wasting your time here,” Don said, turning his head to the opposite wall.
Pepito sighed. “You sure know how to kill a conversation.”
Don didn’t answer. He focused on the cracks between the sandbags and began to trace them with his eyes. Pepito watched him for a little while, longer than Don thought he would, and then he stood.
“All right, if you don’t want to talk to me, I know someone who wants to talk to you.”
Don smirked a little, as if he hadn’t seen that coming.
“Can you stand?” Pepito asked.
Don thought about refusing, but there was no point. He considered the question for a moment. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. He’d been able to earlier, but he didn’t know if he could do it again. He probably could.
Pepito kept his distance as Don maneuvered himself into a kneeling position. He took a deep breath and pulled his right leg up so he was kneeling on his left leg. He started to stand and lost his balance. Pepito jumped forward and grabbed him by the arm, helping him up the rest of the way. His left shoulder screamed in protest.
“Come on, then,” Pepito said quietly. He guided Don through the maze of tents and fires. Don could see the Freemen watching as he passed. They were all stone-faced. He wondered what they thought of him. He and Pepito entered a small room made by the cave-in of the roof in that area.
A grizzled man stood at the far end, talking quietly with another Freeman. A woman with a bandage over one eye stood at the door. The man glanced at Don and Pepito and quickly finished what he had been saying. He turned to the two boys and motioned toward a table and a few chairs.
“Sit, please,” he said.
Don eyed the chairs. “I think I’d rather stand, thanks,” he answered.
The man studied him for a moment, and it was clear he thought Don incapable of such action. “Untie his hands, Pepito.” Don raised his eyebrows in response, and the man gave him a superior look. “Even if you tried, you wouldn’t make it far.”
The ropes dropped from Don’s wrists, and he reflexively brought them in front of him, rubbing where the ropes had been.
“Now sit,” the man said.
A young girl poked her head into the room, “Can I borrow Pepito for a moment?”
The man nodded and pulled out a cigar as Pepito and the girl left. “When I heard a few months ago that you had disappeared and turned up at a camp not far from here, I never dreamed how important you would become to us.” Don didn’t say anything, and the man continued. “Then you disappeared again only a few days ago, and what a ruckus that caused in the city. You probably don’t know the extent of the search, but let me put it this way: somebody wants you found.”
The other man leaned forward. He had a scar running down his cheek and under his chin. “Somebody or somebodies, we think, with a lot more influence than your father.”
Don stared at them, his heartbeat quickening.
“That means,” Scar Face continued, “either you’re an important person, or you know something.”
“On the one hand,” the first man picked up, “if you’re important, we can probably get a nice deal by forcing the people looking for you to negotiate with us for your life.”
“And then again,” said Scar Face, “if you know something, not only can we get the deal, but we can probably get that information from you.”
The older of the two sat back and smiled. “After all, you’re still a child.”
Don kept his silence, clenching his teeth together as they spoke. He bit back the urge to tell them he didn’t know what they were talking about. He doubted they’d believe him.
“What’s it going to be, kid?” Scar Face asked.
Don’s gaze shifted from one man to the other. His hands balled into fists as the scarred man stood. He was fully aware of what would happen now, but he still couldn’t quite believe it.
“Come now, there’s no reason why a kid your age should have to go through this. Just tell us what we want to know.”
Don shook his head slightly. “I don’t know anything, I swear.”
“Guess we’re doing it the hard way.”
The older of the two came to stand beside Don. “We don’t have any fancy tools like your friends in the Council, but we don’t really need them, either.”
In less than a minute, Scar Face had bound him to the chair. Don was sure his heart was pounding loudly enough for them to hear. Scar Face gave the final knot one last jerk, then moved behind Don.
The older man bent over so their eyes were on the same level. “Last chance,” the man said and blew smoke in Don’s face.
Don coughed and shook his head. “Do whatever you want to me,” Don said, fighting to keep
his voice steady, “but it won’t matter. I really don’t know anything.”
“Not good enough.”
A hand came from behind his head and wrapped around the lower half of his face, covering his mouth as the cigar butt connected with the skin of his left hand. For a moment, Don felt nothing. Then his body jerked to escape the white-hot pain. The man shifted a little in front of him, and suddenly Don could see him relighting his cigar. The burning never stopped. Don didn’t look down.
“How was that? Just a small taste, really, in case you wanted to change your mind. I’m sure you could stand up to much more, but I wouldn’t want to deceive you into thinking that’s all you’ll get here. It can get much worse.”
Don trembled as the hands covering his mouth dropped away. “I told you, I don’t know anything!”
The man grabbed Don’s wrist. As the butt once again connected with his skin, he had time to yelp before he was silenced. Only the restraints kept him from sliding out of the chair as his body twisted. He could feel the cigar being ground into the already-burned flesh.
The man let go of his wrist, and Scar Face tapped his cheek, almost playfully, as he came around and sat on the edge of the table in front of him. “Let’s start somewhere easy. How about the names of the Councilmen you have personally met?”
“I haven’t!” Don protested, and saw specks of light dance before his eyes when the man hit him.
“We don’t believe you, obviously,” the other man said.
“But it’s true!”
“Or that’s what you want us to believe.” The man smiled. “This isn’t our first rodeo, kiddo.”
Don swore in reply, only to receive another blow to the head. “I don’t know!” he shouted as he tried to straighten back up.
“How about the generals you’ve met?”