Now it was just a matter of waiting out the guards.
A few lights flashed overhead, dissected by the layers of bars, one after another, slicing it into ribbons. Starke strained to hear the footsteps of the guards over the buzz of the lights and the constant echo of the generators rippling around the Pit.
There was no easy way to tell when it was safe. The airlock was too high above them, but after some time, the lights quit flickering through the grating. Starke slipped his hands along the bar that held him up, carefully lifting himself out of his safe corner. Milky reflections from the spotlights on Bunker barely illuminated the surest path up. Running his fingers over the metal, Starke slid to the edge of the walkway and wrapped his torso around the edge.
His lungs burned and his muscles ached as if they would tear in two. With a final burst of energy he shoved himself onto the walkway and rolled onto his back.
His breath tore out of his chest in a violent hiss. The coast seemed clear. Guards usually didn’t waste much time outside of Bunker. People didn’t like it out there, and it was too easy for criminals to disappear. That’s where they got rid of the riff-raff anyway. Their bigger problem was keeping them out. As proved by Starke’s thriving side business.
Starke’s arms shuddered as he pushed himself up. His hand slipped on something wet, and his elbow hit the grating. He swore as pain shot through his bones.
What had he slid on? His stomach turned as he held up his hand and let the light illuminate the blood encrusted over his fingers.
Dallard. He struggled to hold his stomach in place as it tried to climb through his mouth. If it was just him, pulling that trigger would have been harder. Of course, there was no telling how you would have acted if. What ifs were just that, big question marks. What if he’d left Cowl home that day? What if he’d picked another route? What if he’d checked the schedule before he’d brushed off work that morning?
He did what was needed to keep Cowl alive.
The blood cracked on his skin and itched as Starke spun the combination on the lock and popped the lid off the generator box.
“Shit,” Cowl said as he squinted up at Starke. “We still alive?”
“Somehow.” Starke slumped down to the grate, letting his crying body ease into the cold bars. “Let’s not do that again anytime soon. Deal?”
Cowl climbed out of the box and flashed a grin and a thumbs up at him. “Next time, let’s just waste the guards.”
Starke rolled his eyes and extended a hand. “I’m doing a helluva job raising you, aren’t I?”
Still bearing the mischievous grin, Cowl stood to his feet and helped Starke up. “I think you are doing ok. I’m not dead, and with days like today, that takes pure talent.”
Chapter Three: The Water is Rising
Starke tugged the black lining of his ribbed tank top, squinting into the red-orange glow from the “sun set” overhead. Dubois was still in the office. Three times he’d tried the buzzer. Cowl had shown him how to tap the security system with a simple password. A “skeleton key” he called it. But one run-in with the law was enough. No pushing his luck today. No runs. No sales. No messing with the status quo until he could be sure that they hadn’t identified him.
The overseer had been worried about Dallard. He was a good guy. He seemed to genuinely care about the workers under his watch, even if he didn’t have time for most of the ailments that would keep a lesser man from their job. Bunker needed to be repaired, migraines, fevers, and sniffles be damned.
What if Dubois’ pod was being watched? Or if, somehow, the guards had gotten word about what Starke knew? But, no. If they knew, they would have arrested him already. They wouldn’t take that risk.
Would they?
And Dubois was overly friendly sometimes, sure, but he wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t have been spreading that kind of talk around.
Right?
Starke sucked in another deep breath, ignoring the ache in his chest where he had strained a muscle. It didn’t matter one way or another. He needed answers. Dubois was the best place to get those answers.
Word was already coming in on the underground. The Criminal element in the Farming Tier had been cleaned out and now they were on to the Industrial Tier. It wasn’t just big time dealers and revolutionaries they had grabbed. Everyone. Down to the guy on the street corner trying to exchange half-used joints for a couple extra credits. There were even a few guys who worked the same gig as Starke that had been nabbed.
Probably the only reason he wasn’t sitting in a jail cell, or rotting on the floor of the Pit, was because he lived in the Hub.
But none of this stuff had been worth the City’s time before. Petty crime was just part of society and as long as it kept people from grumbling they didn’t waste the resources to stop it.
There was only one reason they would have hit so hard. They were trying to corner someone. Hunting a rat. Closing off the exits so there wasn’t a way out of the maze.
Like there ever had been.
It was easy to think they were coming after him. Criminals were paranoid, right? He was a criminal. Hence, the shoe fit as well as his worn steel-toes.
And what exactly could he do about it? If he started to panic, he’d just put a target on his back.
Sighing, Starke tugged the arms of the coveralls tied around his waist a bit tighter. It was such an obnoxious color. Dirty as hell, too. No way he wasn’t calling everyone’s attention. Cameras included.
He let his hair fall around his shoulders, running his fingers over it to dislodge the spider webs and dirt that collected over the course of the day. It would be nice to be home, soaking in the tub right about now. Hell, he’d take dishes and housework over this.
“Starke.” Dubois’ tone was far too friendly. Either he genuinely didn’t give a shit about him, or he was trying to hide something.
Maybe both.
Starke scanned the hallway again, lingering a moment on the rapidly fading light of the overhead display. Cowl knew exactly where all the cameras were, how they worked, what they would catch. The walls might as well have eyes, to Starke. They probably did.
“Hey. You willing to trade for some information?”
Dubois laughed. “Information? You mean you want to have some friendly conversation?” He ducked his head, letting the scan catch the chip on his neck. “You won’t trade me anything I want. Might as well just enjoy the company.”
Starke followed him into the pod and slid his hand over the cold surface of the counter. Same as the one at home, but clean. No dishes piled up, no garbage wadded in the corners. It was always a bit alien being in another pod, even if he’d been there a hundred times before.
“So, I take it that I won’t be getting another offer on that Picasso any time soon?” Dubois asked, taking a glass container of clear liquid from the cupboard and pouring two cups. “Ever enjoy the stuff you carry up?”
The acrid scent of moonshine rushed up from the glasses as the liquid swirled in the cups.
Starke didn’t drink the stuff. Not because he never wanted to. He’d seen how they made the shit. If that wasn’t enough to deter any taste he had for it, which it was, he’d also seen what happened to people who did indulge.
Cowl tried it on more than one occasion, something he tried to discipline with every ounce of authority he had.
Dubois shoved one of the tumblers towards him and lifted the remaining glass to his lips.
“So, what can I do for you?”
Starke let his fingers slip around the cup, trying to push away the desire to dump it on the floor and grab Dubois by the collar. He had to be patient. His other contact would be much harder to get information out of so alienating Dubois right now was a bad move.
“This culling of yours…”
Dubois held up a finger while continuing to pour the moonshine down his throat. After a few more swallows he set the tumbler on the table and turned his eyes onto Starke. “Not my culling. But, what about it?” The curl of his l
ips broadcasted his distaste for the business. Was it the actual death count that was bothering him? If so, he was in the wrong job.
“What does the procedure look like?” Starke asked, carefully sidestepping the issue. Give the moonshine a moment to hit.
“Like how will the City do it? We have a list of citizens. Low value individuals taking up extra space. We will inform them that they are being transferred to new positions…”
Starke waved a hand in the air, cutting Dubois off. “What about leading up to it? Do you know anything about, say, security?”
“Security? That’s not my job.” He poured another half an inch of liquor and knocked it back. “What exactly are you asking about?”
Sucking his teeth, Starke stared at the silvery puddle in his tumbler. If ever there was a time that would drive a man to drink, this was it.
“There’s been a huge crackdown in the Farming Tier, and it’s moving into the other Tiers as well.”
“Ah.” Dubois nodded sagely. “I suppose that would impact you some. Nothing to be alarmed about. There’s been some word of an insurrectionist spreading his ideology in the Farming Tier. They haven’t been able to get a name yet.”
Nothing to be alarmed at? How would Dubois even know what was alarming? He was portioned off, up here in his ivory tower. Bartering for priceless art pieces and drinking moonshine. He was all but royalty. No one would be choosing him for a culling or hunting him down for a few worthless trinkets that were all that stood between some people and starvation.
Yeah, Starke was going to be alarmed. He’d barely escaped arrest, maybe death, twenty four hours ago. Not just him, either.
“How long will this go on?”
He couldn’t just sit on his ass. He might avoid getting arrested, great, but if he didn’t get back to his nightly activities, the Coven family could be on their way to the Tiers. Mom, at least.
That wasn’t happening.
“I don’t know what to say. It could last a while, but eventually they have to stop. It’s just too many resources lost.” Dubois could have been empathetic, the way he looked at Starke.
Starke rubbed the scruff on his chin. As crazy as things were in the Farming Tier, maybe it was best he just keep his distance until things eased up. He’d barely made it out of there, and if something happened to him, who was going to take care of Mom and Cowl?
But five hundred people? That was a lot of lives to have on his conscience. How could he manage to balance that many deaths against those of Mom and Cowl? And what was the worst that could happen if he didn’t get back to work? A smaller pod? Lower quality food? He could get what they needed so they wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference.
Cowl would probably stay in the Hub, even if he wasn’t ready to be on his own. He’d end up pulling some stupid trick he couldn’t get out of. And what about mom? She was just the kind of person they were culling. At least in the Hub she was immune from wanton killing. Safe from most of the desperate criminals that slipped through the nets.
He’d turned this same question around his mind a million times, and the riddle still had the same answer. Once they started falling through the Tiers, there was no telling where it would end. Mom was hardly keeping things together as it was.
Starke stood, sliding the untouched moonshine back towards Dubois. “Thanks for helping me out. I owe you one.”
Dubois shrugged. “What are friends for?”
Friends? That was a luxury Starke didn’t get to have.
Swallowing the bitter taste in the back of his throat, he stepped out the door and into the darkening hallways. The walls glowed pearlescent with the light seeping out of the corners of the screen. He suppressed a shudder, trying to ignore that odd sensation of nakedness. His gun pressed into the hollow of his back, trapped under the long sleeves tied around his waist.
He would never be able to look Mom in the eye again if he just let everyone die. She looked at him like a hero, like a savior. It was hard to tell if she knew about his illegal activities, or how he let Cowl follow along. Even when it meant he might get shot at or stabbed in a deal gone south. Even if it meant that Cowl was already hawking drugs to other kids in the apprenticeship. Maybe it was because he was the best Cowl was going to get. Was that it? Was he just the best they had?
The thought made his knees weak. Weak enough that he had to pause and steady himself against the wall.
Six days a week, he pulled a full shift. He took care of the house, kept mom from drifting away. And more nights than not, he was out in the Pit, turning over deals, running the prizes that other people wanted so his family could be safe and happy. All that, and he was still barely enough to keep their little family together.
Mom was one step from the edge. Most days, closer than that. Cowl was a good kid; somewhere under all that anger and violence and dysfunction. Starke hadn’t done anything to nurture that, hard as he tried. For his part, he’d only messed the poor kid up more.
He was doing the best he could, but it was never going to be enough to fill the hole that Markus left behind. Why was he even fighting this? Was a little bit of a shitty father-figure better than nothing?
Starke shook off the growing nausea in his stomach and pushed off the wall, stumbling towards home.
What if every step he’d taken was just hurting Mom and Cowl? It was like he’d been fighting all his life, and only landing punches on them.
There was no fresher memory than the one of Markus walking out the door. That ache was the most real thing in a world of things he wanted to think were make believe. Cowl had dodged bullets, tested the waters of drugs and alcohol, shot and killed human beings, even if only through the dark, and watched men die at his brother’s hands. Despite all that, there was only one thing that Starke wanted to save him from.
The world was full of death. The white-washed walls reeked of it. And what drug was worse than hours of escape in Virtual Reality, trying to pretend that everything was ok?
No, if there was one thing that he was going to save Cowl from, it was the pain of watching the most important man in his life walk away. He’d keep Markus as far away from the family as he conceivably could, and then he’d try harder to be the kind of man who could take his place. Even if it killed him.
Chapter Four: A Hidden Knife
Another group of guards walked by. Starke sucked in his breath and tucked his head further between his shoulders. He shouldn’t have come back to the Farming Tier so soon, but the thought kept tormenting his mind. Five hundred people.
Starke frowned and crossed in front of a woman carrying a basket full of beets. The stairs up to Markus’ pod seemed steeper. How did these people do it? Lugging groceries, supplies, even children up every day. Couldn’t they at least put in an elevator? What century were they in?
As an older woman passed, Starke pressed himself to the railing to make room and glanced up at Markus’ pod, only a few feet above. Through the glass, Markus’ piercing blue eyes caught his. He stared for a moment, and then the glass turned dark.
Was Markus trying to avoid him? Why would he do that? His girlfriend’s head was on the chopping block. Did he not even care? Maybe he just figured he’d move on to the next girl after it was done. Save him from having to take the effort to pack up and leave.
Starke vaulted up the last few stairs, ignoring the grape vines he broke as he reached for the door. He knocked and risked a glance behind him. It looked like business as usual, but there was an air of tension in the Tier. People gave the guards a wider-than-usual berth.
“Starke.” Markus barely opened the door. “It’s…ummm. It’s not really a good time.”
“Like hell. Let me in there before I get nabbed, too.” Starke shoved his way into the pod, ignoring Markus’ protest. How did he think he was even going to help what’s-her-name if he didn’t talk to Starke? He wouldn’t have even known she was in danger if it wasn’t for him.
“The climate just isn’t…”
“Shut up.” Sta
rke shoved Markus back towards the couch. “This stuff going on with the guards wasn’t because of me.”
Markus sat heavily on the cushions and looked around the small room like it was full of invisible wolves. “Look, I know you are trying to help….but…umm. I just. I think it’s best if you don’t come by for a while.”
“I don’t come by, hmmm? I wouldn’t be getting in your hair right now if you hadn’t come knocking on my door. But what’s done is done.”
“I…” Markus raised one finger, like a caricature of a protesting intellectual. Only, as much as Markus was lauded as an intelligent man, he really was a moron when it came right down to it.
“Shut up,” Starke repeated. He glanced out the window. He was being paranoid but it wasn’t uncalled for. Better safe than sorry. Paranoia had saved him more than once. “Here is the deal. You can’t just run away from this problem. And I can’t either. I can’t just turn my back on five hundred innocent people.”
“I…well, I suppose.”
Starke narrowed his eyes. “Even if one of those innocent lives is not so innocent.”
Markus’ face flushed red for a moment, and he opened his mouth but quickly snapped it shut like a trap door. A real man would have protected the woman he loved. Markus didn’t care. That was the difference between him and Starke. Markus used people up, took what he wanted, and moved on when it got uncomfortable. Starke stuck out the shit because the people he cared about were worth it.
Shaking his head in an attempt to dislodge the anger, Starke paced the small area between the couch and the door. Why was he even here? Markus wouldn’t fight for his girlfriend’s life?
Where else could he go, though? His contacts were getting snapped up quick and a criminal would be the only person willing to get involved. Did those petty criminals and crime lords count as part of the five hundred, or where they just a bonus? Throw them in the Pit, get some extra labor for the three to five years they would survive the mines.
Infraction Page 5