Shadow Fray
Page 4
Trey laughed as he finished the rep and set the weight on the stand. “Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that every time you squeeze one off in your hand, right?”
Hale smiled, but the truth was it wasn’t very funny, and he didn’t feel like laughing.
JUSTIN UNWRAPPED himself from his sleeping little brother and turned off My Little Pony. He was constantly amazed by the number of shows from the Old World he hadn’t seen yet. Professionally done media wasn’t made as much anymore. Like technology, it had been frozen in time since the Thinning. Keeping power and communications had been a priority for a hundred years, but everything was reused and recycled—including television shows. When he was younger, he used to get worried that one day, the cartoons would all run out. That day never came, though.
He walked to the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows. Normally the blinds were kept up so the sun would heat the room, but not today. He peered through a slit to see a drone flying over the next building. The buzzing had been constant since sunrise, and while police drones didn’t usually go spying in windows, he wasn’t taking any chances. No doubt there were plenty of curiosity seekers flying their personal machines, but even those didn’t usually get too close to their windows. As long as a drone didn’t have the government logo, there was nothing to prevent someone from taking it out. Though in his condition, he wasn’t about to step out onto the balcony with a salt-pellet pistol and risk being seen. Besides, he wasn’t a great shot, not like Gin. Her reputation for dropping drones on the first shot pretty much made the whole fourteenth floor on the north side of the Lakeside Condominiums a virtual no-spy zone.
Another drone flew right down the center of the space between buildings, about two stories beneath him. He could easily make out the MPD logo, but he would have known it was MPD based on noise and size alone. This whole circus was stupid. All the police activity was likely for show, so the powers that be appeared to be doing something about last night. It looked good for the news cameras, but most wouldn’t be fooled. This wasn’t Chicago. The system there worked because people had money, and even civilians could earn a buck with a percentage cut of any video proof that led to a conviction for a crime as small as littering. But here? Fines weren’t effective if citizens couldn’t pay them. Weaponized police drones might stop a violent crime in progress, but those larger drones were easy to spot and not very quiet. Drones didn’t even need to fly low; it just kept people in check to know they were being watched and recorded. That was the idea anyway. Drones must record plenty of crime, but unless something was actually done about it, what was the point?
Honestly he was more afraid of residents in neighboring buildings getting a look at him than the drones. All his life he’d lived in the Lakeside Condominiums rise, so the view he looked out on now was very familiar. The nearest building was small, not quite reaching up to their fourteenth-floor unit. Still, it was close enough that he had a clear view into someone’s living space. A person probably wouldn’t notice his facial injury even if they did look, but probably wasn’t good enough. The next building over was taller, matching the twenty-eight floors of his own rise. Despite the greater distance, people could see into units clearly, especially at night.
Distance didn’t necessarily mean protection from prying eyes. He sat at the window table and pushed the head of a telescope through the slits in the blinds. He zeroed in on the two officers strolling up the lake walk about two hundred yards away. Normally he never saw police about.
Looking beyond the officers to Lake Michigan, there were even police boats running surveillance. That was fine—clearly just for show. The mayor of Milwaukee—Mayor Cram—was all about appearances. Perhaps due to nearly nonexistent air travel, local city governments held most of the power, and while American government was supposedly still democratic, Mayor Cram had been in office for as long as he could remember. Rumor had it she was in the pocket of organized crime, and maybe under the thumb of the Shadow Fray bosses themselves. The Shadow Masters. Justin suspected Mayor Cram was the reason most Shadow Arenas were in and around Milwaukee. To many people it was known as Bruise City or Killwaukee. Like everywhere else in the country, the structures of government were in place, but crime was money, and money was the real government.
Right now the mayor and the police didn’t concern him—but he kept checking again and again for an officer with a dog. He’d retrieved his shirt after the Fray, but that hardly mattered; his scent and his blood were everywhere in that Arena. They couldn’t know he lived so close, and would hardly expect it, so they’d have no reason to bring a dog. That’s what he kept telling himself. It was getting close to sunset, so if they hadn’t brought one in by now, he was safe. Right?
He nearly fell out of the chair as the door opened and Gin walked in.
“Jesus Christ. Try knocking, why don’t you?” he gasped, breathing deep to slow his heart.
“Knock on my own door?” Gin smiled and looked at him crookedly as she walked down the hall past the open kitchen into the living area. “Wouldn’t that have scared you more?”
He removed the telescope and let the gap in the blinds fall closed. “Probably,” he admitted. Ginny came and sat next to Charlie, who was blinking awake. Justin had thought many times during the day to call her, but he didn’t like to think about what she might be doing. “How did it go?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“Totally fine. He wouldn’t fuck me because he felt bad and was so concerned. Charlie, you gave us an excellent excuse,” she said, turning to kiss him on his forehead. Charlie crinkled his nose, grabbed his fallen baseball hat, and shoved it back on his head. Justin smiled at the funny expression.
“He’s gonna deliver the shipments, but he said some of it can sit until you get back,” Gin added. “He’ll just let them pile up and let you deal with all the cranky retailers.” She smiled. “Of course, I got pretty affectionate and blew him eventually, so he might change his mind.”
Justin lost his smile. He and Gin were frank about sex, and they often knew what the other one was doing… or who they were doing. She was the one who hooked him up. In fact, he had probably slept with most of her female friends. He was considered a friend-with-benefits by extension, safe for everyone involved. But he didn’t like to think Gin didn’t have a choice in her partners. He didn’t want her to ever have to go back to that again.
Gin, of course, could read his mind. “You need to let this go. I like Ray. And he returned the favor. He got down under my desk as I was working the phone, kept trying to get me to mess up. Doubtful the people on the other line even care. I mean, we make condoms after all.” She paused for a second, before continuing somewhat wistfully, “He’s got that beard, and I really like—”
“All right, all right!” Justin said a little too loudly. Charlie blew a raspberry like he was trying to keep from laughing.
“And don’t worry about driving your routes,” she said. “Maybe somewhere a woman will get pregnant and give birth to a little girl all because you couldn’t deliver the protection.”
“Sure,” he said. “Or die of the crank.”
“No one dies from that anymore. How are you feeling?”
“Nothing worse than normal,” he said, “except the scrapes and gouges feel different.” He was bruised, but not terribly swollen. “Nothing broken, nothing cracked.” Just a constant, sharper pain whenever he twisted his ribs. Or talked. Or turned to look at something. Or breathed.
“Good,” she said. “I was worried. You didn’t really talk last night. It was weird.”
“Yeah, well….”
“You checked your numbers?”
“No.” Previously he’d studied his film, but this one he hadn’t watched once. He didn’t want to think about it.
She looked excited but also tentative and nervous. She lowered her voice. “The numbers are through the roof.”
“That’s good, I guess?”
“It’s going to be more money than we’ve had in a long time.”
“They won’t deliver to you? In your old pick-up location?”
“I doubt it, but maybe. It was through Joe before, so it was his location, not mine. I don’t know if the money for this last Fray goes to me now or if Scarecrow gets it. Or we both do. I have no idea how this works. I don’t think anyone does.”
She frowned. “Oh.”
“I’ll have to go meet with Scarecrow on Wednesday. Maybe we’ll find out then. But you can check Joe’s location in the meantime, because I can’t go outside. And we can always hope, I guess.” He looked at his twin, wanting to hope. But their family had never known good fortune—if such a thing even existed anymore, for anyone.
Chapter 4
JUSTIN WAS having a hard time sleeping, and he missed Charlie. It was amazing how much more it hurt when he didn’t have cartoons or siblings to distract him. The soreness and bruising he considered to be a good, clean hurt—like an ache after a hard workout. The skin he’d lost, though, that really hurt. It was a hot pain that kept him continually uncomfortable. Part of the misery came from the worry that it wouldn’t heal soon enough for him to cover it somehow. Even worse, it was a perpetual reminder of the knuckles that had belonged to a guy who got his throat slit and died less than twenty-four hours ago.
No, he wouldn’t think about that. Instead he reached under his pillow and pulled out the folded letter. The ambient light in the room was barely enough to read by, but he practically had it memorized anyway. He’d only had it for five days. He was going to have to tell Charlie about it, but not yet. Charlie’s teacher, a nun named Sister Timothy, had given it to him. In a way it felt like she had betrayed Charlie’s trust, but Justin was glad she had. He loved it. Without this letter, he might not have had the drive to win. It gave him the extra push he’d needed. He’d copied down the first few lines to read before he entered the Shadow Arena, but he took it out now to read the whole thing again. Unfolding it carefully, he handled it like a secret.
Handwriting Practice
The Person I Look Up to Most
To: Sister Tim
From: Charlie
Justin does his best even when it’s hard, even when he’s tired and maybe hurting a little bit. He always shows courage. That’s why he’s the person I look up to the most.
I think we all have secrets to keep. It’s nice to have a little bit of privacy, like from the drones, and my brother tries to give us that. But we never hide. He wants me to have a normal life, whatever that is. My brother keeps secrets, but not from me. And he helps me keep my secrets too. Sometimes we hide from the drones like Shutters, but mostly we pretend like it’s just us.
Justin always tries to do what’s best for my sister and me. He raised me when my sister was at work. He always did lots of stuff with me. He read me books until I could read on my own. I didn’t even need school for that, because he taught me. But our favorite thing to do is watch cartoons.
He tries to keep things from me, but not in a bad way. He puts his tablet down all the time, but I know he’s reading. It’s almost like he doesn’t want anyone to know he reads, not even me. I think he doesn’t want me to be too curious about things. It’s another way he tries to protect me. So we just do kid stuff. But that’s okay.
My brother is really strong. He works out and he lifts weights. He makes me come with him and read a book but I watch him too. I know he stays strong to protect me and my sister. My sister is fertile, and so he always feels like he has to protect her because she’s in danger or something. My sister can take care of herself, but he does it anyway. I like that about him.
Justin’s secret is that he’s really smart. Like, really smart. Someday, my brother is going to figure out what is wrong with the world. He will figure out why all the people got sick and died so long ago, and what happened to poison the ground. Then he’ll find out why there’s not as many girls anymore, and why people can’t have babies. Maybe he’ll even find the cure for ground sickness, but that’s probably asking too much. I mean, he can’t do everything.
Here’s a secret about him and me. He says there’s two kinds of people—people who stay alive and people who go poking their noses where they don’t belong. I don’t say it (ha ha), but I know he’s both, and I’m both too. So really, there’s three kinds of people. But don’t tell him I said that.
He wants me to go to college at Exxon or DuPont in Chicago. I like that idea. Because if my brother doesn’t find out what happened and how to fix it, I want to find out for him. He’d like to take me out of Bruise City to Chicago, but maybe someday I will do that for him instead. Anyway, I like it here, because this is my home, and this is where you are too. Thanks for being the best teacher.
He would be so mad if he knew I wrote this. But I know you keep secrets too. So please keep my secret. I know you will, because you’re the third person I most look up to, and you always tell me I can do anything.
My brother tells me that too.
From: Charlie
P.S. My sister is the second person and I also have a friend named Gristopher Mays and he’s the fourth person. He’s really nice but I haven’t known him as long as I’ve known you.
P.P.S. I think you are that special third kind of person too. Thanks for being the best teacher.
Justin marveled at how neat Charlie’s handwriting was—so much finer than his own boxy script. God, he could read and reread that note over and over again, but best not to overdo it. He’d save the assignment like a little treasure and bring it out when he really needed it. Which, granted, was quite a bit—but just one read-through at a time. He folded it up carefully and put it back under his pillow.
He couldn’t quite bring himself to feel guilty about having it. He’d eventually tell Charlie his teacher had passed it on to him—after all, Charlie straight up said Justin didn’t keep secrets from him, which was mostly true. Still, he’d hold on to this secret just a little bit longer.
He fluffed his pillow in an effort to make himself more comfortable but succeeded only in stretching the skin around his ribs while he turned. Christ, it burned with an almost physical heat. This sucked. He’d tried reading but words were unable to keep his mind from wandering. He needed to move, to do something.
Justin wasn’t used to sleeping alone, but Gin had convinced Charlie to give him space. They didn’t have assigned bedrooms per se. Whoever went to bed first would take the larger master bedroom, and that’s usually where Charlie ended up too, if he didn’t fall asleep on the couch. Sometimes all three of them slept together in the large bedroom. That’s what felt most comfortable.
Tonight, Justin was sleeping alone. Actually he was awake alone. He sighed and got out of bed, and the sigh turned into a groan. “Hurts,” he admitted quietly to no one. He left the guest bedroom—so called because that’s the bedroom he or Gin used if they brought over “guests”—and walked into the main living area. He hesitated.
“The hell with it,” he mumbled, and walked over to the telescope for what seemed the ninetieth time that day. He didn’t expect to see anything. This was more like an itch he needed to scratch. When the moon was out and large, it reflected off Lake Michigan and brightened the whole landscape, but that wasn’t the case tonight. The water was a never-ending blackness, so he turned his attention to the neighboring rises and the units with lights on.
When it came to windows, there were two schools of thought. Some people liked to leave them uncovered, seemingly because they had absolutely nothing to hide, but more likely they wanted people to know who they were. It was no coincidence that the higher up you went on a rise, the more windows were uncovered at night. Justin imagined that displaying your home was a lot like how driving a fancy car used to be. These people were the upper class, or the Uppers.
Others kept their windows covered all the time, even during the day. The Shutters. These were the people who longed for the Old World, tho
ugh they hadn’t been alive back then, not unless they were very old like his friend Mr. Mays. A world of less violence, before the epidemics. No drones. No spying. No coastal flooding, no contaminated ground. A world you didn’t feel the need to shut out. A world from which you didn’t need to be protected. A world now limited to four corners and four walls to maintain a false sense of control.
Many Shutters witnessed the world only through the feeds of their personal drones. Ironic, considering most of them were afraid of drones. Shutters were afraid of everything, even walking on the ground, though twelve hours on the ground was deemed perfectly safe, even for pregnant women. Basically as long as you didn’t live on the ground, you were fine. It took prolonged exposure, and Mr. Mays’s ripe old age was a testament to that.
Unlike Shutters, Justin didn’t long for the past. He made a conscious effort to be neither Upper nor Shutter and live naturally. But living naturally wasn’t what he was doing if he had to make a conscious effort to do it, was it? That was one of his philosophical questions he could bring up with Mr. Mays the next time he and Charlie went upstairs for a visit.
Justin left the telescope and gave his attention to what he was trying to avoid—the computer.
He moved from the window table to the nearby minidesk where the computer was located. It was a pieced-together machine that took its own sweet time to wake up. He could watch this on a larger screen, but the smaller screen might be easier to bear and give him more privacy should Gin or Charlie wake. After the screen came to life, he took a deep breath and pulled up his Fray from last night.
He saw himself walk into the room looking confident. Prepared.
Then Scarecrow stepped away from the wall and into the frame to pat him down. Justin’s stomach roiled, the room seeming to cant. He was going to be sick. He got up quickly and ran into the bathroom. He splashed cool water on his face—and was immediately shocked out of his nausea. He had totally forgotten about his facial injuries until they sang with pain. Antiseptic from the nearby skin must have washed back into the wounds. He stared at himself in the mirror, willing the pain to subside.