by Aubrey Rose
“No, sir.”
“We’re retaking the Harlem Sector at noon today,” he tells me. “Radiation levels came back low enough that Central Command’s declared it salvageable. Platoon Alpha will be accompanying the engineers and protecting them while they evaluate functional infrastructure, Beta is covering Amsterdam Avenue, and…”
I nod silently, hanging onto his every word as he points at the enormous map of New York City plastered on the wall of the barracks. The Harlem Sector encompasses the territory between 125th and 175th up along the Harlem River, and, at least according to this map, the area we’re going into around 155th Street is densely packed with civilians.
“Sir,” I interject as he pauses to take a breath, “may I ask what we’re doing about the civilian population?”
He shoots me a long, almost disdainful stare, and then he turns back to the troops.
“Men… this little patch of sunlight is our target today,” he announces. “Harlem Sector—memorize it, because you’re all going in today. We’re taking back the functional infrastructure, salvaging whatever we can, and establishing a permanent presence in the area. Any objections?”
“No, sir!” shout two-hundred soldiers in unison, their voices so loud in the cramped barracks that my ears ring.
When the troops finally go silent, I clear my throat and speak up again.
“Sir… the Harlem Sector is heavily populated,” I repeat. “What are your plans for the displaced civilians?”
I point at the highlighted rectangle on the map from 155th to 160th street—a tiny yellow island in a sea of red—the one safe haven for civvies in a sector teeming with shifter scum. “If we push them out, they don’t have anywhere to go. There’s no functioning water or sewage for thirty blocks in—”
“Fuck the civvies!” interjects a grunt in the second row of the Beta platoon. “They ain’t much better than the shifters.”
I’d swear you can feel the room ice over as the Major and I stare the boy down. Neither one of us is taking kindly to his little outburst, even if our reasons for being angry aren’t the same. The Major prizes discipline and he’s clearly pissed at the breach of decorum, but me… I’m more concerned that we’ve got a psycho who doesn’t care about the people he’s supposed to be protecting.
“Do you want to do the honors, or do I deal with this one, sir?” I whisper to the Major.
“I leave it to you, Jones.”
“Soldier… step forward,” I bark, and the lines part as everyone backs away from the stupid shit until he’s standing alone in the center of a lonely circle. He doesn’t look too sure of himself anymore, and he nervously comes to the front of the room.
“What’s your name, soldier?”
“Johnson, sir,” he mumbles.
“Johnson, huh?” I repeat, practically spitting sarcasm. “It’s a shame you don’t much care for the civvies, because you’re gonna be serving them meals for the next month. You will report to the Times Square kitchen at 1200 hours today, and if you skip a single meal, I’ll let the Major deal with you.”
“Sir—”
“Shut the fuck up, Johnson,” I snap, and he goes silent. “Now get your ass back in line.”
The Major chuckles behind me, and I turn to face him again.
“To answer your question, Jones… we’re going to be displacing them to the Park Sector North in Central Park by the Beta Platoon. There are limited facilities, yes, but more than enough room for everyone. Any issues, soldier?”
He stares up at me, and I can see the unspoken challenge gleaming in his eyes. He’s daring me to question his order again—challenging me to stick my neck out for the axe.
“No sir,” I answer, trying my hardest to keep my voice cold and calm. “I understand, sir.”
The Major nods, satisfied with my response, and then he turns back to the troops again.
“Soldiers, you will receive your assignments from your platoon commanders at 1030 hours today. Any civilians are to be corralled for relocation to Park Sector North. If they refuse to leave… well, I’ll leave it to your platoon commanders to decide how threatening they are, if you get my drift.”
“Sir, yes sir!” everyone shouts, the walls vibrating from the noise.
“Oh, and if you see any Contaminates… their elimination is, of course, a priority,” the Major finishes, crossing his hands behind his back.
Contaminate is the politically correct word for what we call shifter scum. Why anyone felt it necessary to sterilize the word for a bunch of filthy, murderous animals is beyond me, but I ain’t exactly a Washington politician.
“Troops, dismissed!”
The lines of soldiers break and everyone scatters to enjoy what little of their Christmas they’re going to get before this surprise operation. I bee-line for the balcony door—our barracks is on the twentieth floor of an abandoned skyscraper—and step outside into the frigid air to clear my head.
Those poor civvies, thrown out of their makeshift homes on Christmas morning. Cold. The idea leaves a horrible taste in my mouth, and I shake my head in disgust. It ain’t my call and it ain’t my say, but if it was… no way. It just ain’t right.
The girl’s blue-green eyes burst to life in my mind again, and my heart sinks even further into my stomach. What if she lives there? What if I’m about to throw her and her little girl out onto the streets? No… I can’t think like this. She ain’t my problem—she’s just a thief I let go free because it was Christmas Eve and nothing more.
Not like I’ll ever see her again anyway. I didn’t even find out her name.
The door opens behind me with a metallic clang, and I snap out of my thoughts and spin around. The Major nods in greeting and then joins me at the railing. I nod back to him as he leans over and stares down at the street below.
“You smoke?” he asks.
“No, sir.”
“All the more for me, then.” He pulls a cigar out of his inside coat pocket and strikes a match against a metal railing bracket. Within seconds, the sharp smell of tobacco fills the air and invades my nostrils. I’ve never been able to stand tobacco smoke, but I can hardly ask him to put it out, now can I?
“I wanted a quick word with you, Jones,” he says in between puffs. “It’s about the operation today.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Normally, I’d put you with your usual Gamma platoon,” he continues, “but today, I need you to change things up a bit.”
That doesn’t sound good. That doesn’t sound good at all. The Major continues.
“You’ve whipped those boys into a good bunch of soldiers, so I want you to go with Delta instead today.”
“Sir, with all due respect, Delta is…”
“…is a bunch of borderline retarded dumbfucks?” He finishes my sentence for me. It’s not quite the sentiment I’d have expressed, but it’s close enough.
“Something like that, sir.”
He chuckles and taps his cigar against the railing edge, watching as the ashes fly off into the winter wind.
“That’s exactly why I need you there, Jones. They’re too dumb to breathe, let alone make it out of this without killing either themselves or civilians,” he explains. “You’re going to be replacing their current commander while he undergoes some… let’s call it re-education… and your job is to make sure they don’t screw this whole mission up, understood?”
The absolute last thing I want to be doing on Christmas Day is evicting people from their homes with a bunch of dimwitted, undertrained grunts, but I don’t have a choice. His orders are final and I know it. All I can do is what I’ve always done: salute and say “Yes, sir” as impotent fury builds up inside me.
This isn’t what we’re supposed to be doing. We’re not supposed to be claiming the city for ourselves—we’re supposed to be protecting the civilians from the murderous animals lurking around every corner.
“Think on the bright side, kid,” the Major says, stubbing his cigar into the railing. The ash is black an
d gray, and some of it drifts out into the city. “Maybe you’ll finally get to kill one of ‘em.”
“Yeah,” I say, not looking at him. “Maybe.”
Chapter Seven
Bindi
When I get back to the den, the lamp is flashing wildly but everyone is still asleep.
“Get up! Everybody get up! Patrol coming!”
“Patrol?” Lily rubs her eyes as she sits up in bed, her sheets tangled at her feet. Her claws are out. “Where?”
“Sirens above. They’re doing a raid.”
“Are we shifting?” she asks. “Should we shift?” I can see her breathing faster as her claws extend, becoming more feline already.
“No, Lily. We just need to hide.”
Kit jumps off the bed and is back in human form before she reaches me.
“On Christmas? Why would they come on Christmas?”
“I don’t know, Kit. Quick, Logan, pack your things. We have to get out of here fast.”
“Take my things?”
“It’s a raid. We have to take anything we want to keep.” If they come down and find our den, I know that they’ll take everything. The stockpiles of food. The stove and all of Logan’s electronics. And if they find us, they’ll kill us.
“Where’s Nim?”
My eyes look around the den wildly, but I don’t see him.
“Nim?” Kit’s eyes are wide. “Uh oh.”
“Uh oh, what?” Logan says.
“Kit, where is he?” Lily asks.
“He said... he said last night he wanted to get a present for Bindi. Topside.”
My chest seizes up with fear. If he’s above ground, he’ll be caught in the net. And Nim can’t control his shifting, not when he’s angry. He’ll surely be killed if he’s found by the patrol.
“Topside?” Logan repeats. “Why didn’t you tell him not to?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Lily says.
“He said it was a secret!” Kit cries, her lip quivering.
“Bindi, what are we going to do?” Lily asks. All three of them turn their heads to me. I’m the one who is supposed to have all of the answers. But right now all I can think about is Nim.
“Pack and get dressed,” I say. “We’ll head northward and hide in the sewage drain until we know it’s safe.”
“But Nim—“
“I know!” I whirl around to face Lily. She’s acting like she’s the only one who cares about him, and it isn’t helping me calm down any. “I’ll find him. You help Kit get ready.”
“I’m ready,” Kit pipes up. “I have my sweater and my present. This is my present, right?”
She’s clutching the wrapped doll to her chest. I nod, my mind racing. Where would Nim have gone?
“Logan, you’re in charge,” I say, as he finishes packing up the lantern in his pack along with as many cans of food as he can fit.
“Why is he in charge?” Lily asks. “I’m older than him!”
“By, like, a minute,” Logan says, rolling his eyes.
“Stop it!” I yell. The kids immediately shut up. Kit is crying quietly now, and I don’t have time to comfort her.
“Logan, you take everybody up to the sewer to the inside tunnel. You have your welder?”
He nods, his eyes wide with fear. He understands what I want him to do.
“Weld the grate shut. Stay inside until I get back. Don’t make any noise.”
“But you’ll be outside—“ Kit starts to say.
“Shh. Kit.” I bend down on one knee so I’m face to face with her. “You have to be brave for right now. I’ll be back and I’ll do the secret knock, and then you can open up and we’ll all be together. I have to go find Nim now.”
“But—“
I shake my head. Kit throws her arms around me, hugging me tighter than I thought her little arms could.
“I love you, Bindi,” she whispers into my ear.
“Love you too, Kit. Logan?”
“Come on Kit,” he says.
He grabs Kit’s hand and they go to leave, Lily alongside them with her pack full of food. Kit whimpers only once. She turns to look back at me at the door, her eyes filled with fear and sorrow. My heart aches to have to leave her, but she’ll be safe with Logan and Lily. Then they are gone, and I am alone in the den.
I climb up the escape ladder and shove my shoulder into the hatch. Crabgrass has grown over the hinge and it’s hard to push open, but once I do I am out of the darkness. The blaring siren fills my ears and I squint into the sunlight. They’re close, or they will be soon.
I have to find Nimrah.
I edge my way through the piles of junk and pick my way through the weeds and thicket that have grown up through the plastic, carefully replacing the bigger pieces of corrugated tin and torn plastic tarp. If I can keep them out of our den, we can wait it out and move back in after the patrol. But Nim...
Then, in a flash, I know where he is. There’s an art supply store down Amsterdam a few blocks away. One time I’d taken him out with me on a rations run, and we’d gone by the front window.
It was one of the few stores on the street that remained pretty much untouched by either shifter or human survivors. Who’s making art when everyone around them is dead, dying, or a monster? Not me. Not anyone. But I’d stopped in front, admiring the watercolor paints and brushes. Only for a second, but I’m sure Nim remembered.
I’m sure that’s where he is.
The sunlight feels wonderful on my face, but I can’t even pause to enjoy it right now. I am so frustrated that it’s day and not night. If I were under the cover of darkness, I could shift and run down the streets swiftly to Nim. Nim, my dear Nim.
As it is, I run calmly, jogging down toward the art supply store. To anyone looking, I might be out on an errand, a young girl trying not to be outside for too long.
Looking down Amsterdam, I see the awning over the store. The door is closed. And ahead, farther down the street, I see the patrol guard. More soldiers than usual, too—a good ten of them this time. They’re walking my way. My heart begins to pound, and I feel the points of my claws pushing against my skin to get out. I duck down next to a trash can overgrown with ivy and peer out into the street from behind the browning leaves.
Thankfully my vision is twice as sharp as any human’s. If they had binoculars, they might see me, but these soldiers are under-equipped like usual. If only a group of shifters would work together to stop them, we could. A single strong shifter could take out this patrol without too much trouble at all. I could take them out, maybe.
Stop it, Bindi. I shake my head, tearing my thoughts away. There’s no escape from the Laz, no matter how many patrols we could kill. They’d just send more and more to kill us, to drive us out of the holes we live in.
A movement through the store window catches my eye, and I look back to see Nim inside. He’s trying to open the door.
I wave my arms from behind the trash can, trying to get his attention, but he’s focused on the chain lock at the front door. At least he’s in human form. How did he get into the store, anyway? Go back out the same way, I think. Go back, Nim! Go back! Don’t—
He reaches back with his arm, and my pulse beats heavy in my veins. I can’t move, can’t attract attention, but he will be caught if I don’t. A sob chokes my throat and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know. I don’t know—
A crash, the sound of glass shattering and falling to the sidewalk. Nim jumps out after the glass, crouching on the sidewalk. He’s as lithe as a leopard, even in human form. I look up to the patrol ahead. They’ve seen him.
Before I can shout for him to come my way, he’s turned and started running away from the patrol.
I hope that they will let him go. He’s in human form, after all. Then one of the soldiers begins to run, then another, and suddenly the entire line of soldiers are racing after him. Nim ducks into the first alley across the street from me and most of the patrol run straight past him, but just as I’m about to let out a sigh
of relief, the last two soldiers turn and follow him down the alley. As the last one turns the corner, I see him draw his gun.
No.
My body is hot with anger and fear, even in the chilly air. As quick as I can on human feet, I sprint across the street and into the next alley, hoping to find Nim before they can catch him. He’s one long block down, and I only hope that he’s coming my way.
By the time I reach the end of the alley, I’m having a hard time breathing. I want to shift but I know that would be even more dangerous, now that patrols are certainly in the area. I hear footsteps around the corner. A gunshot fires and the brickwork corner in front of me explodes into chips and brick dust, the echo of the shot ringing in my ears.
I scream.
Nim hears me as he comes running. I know he hears me. He knows my voice, and as a shifter, he can probably smell my scent. He angles his path into the alley I’m in. He’s partially shifted into cat form, and as he runs by, another shot fires. He jumps and he’s already a panther when his paws hit the wall.
He caroms off the side, pushing off of the brick wall, and jumps—jumps back—toward the soldier who is coming around the corner with his gun drawn. I feel Nim’s fear and smell the hot gunpowder. I scream again, and the soldier looks at me with wide eyes before Nim twists midair and pounces on him.
One swipe of Nim’s claws, and the soldier is down. His gun clatters to the ground as blood pours from the wounds in his face and neck. Nim is on him, paws pinning him down easily, and he goes for the last bite. The jugular.
“No!” I shout as Nim sinks his teeth into the soldier’s neck.
I shove Nim off of the soldier, and he snarls, looking up at me.
“Run!” I hiss, pointing wildly down the short alleyway. I don’t know what I’ll do—how I’ll distract the other soldier, how I’ll explain. I’ve thought about attacking soldiers more times than I can count. But this is not what I want for Nim.
I never wanted him to kill. I never wanted him to be a murderer.
Nim is crouched low, his breath hot and white in the air. Blood drips from his claws and fangs onto the street. I feel his anger, his desire to kill. I know what he wants. He wants to protect me.