Sifters (Sifters Series Book 1)

by Shane Scollins

  It was hot, but thankfully the sun had been obscured by clouds, which cooled it down a bit. It was actually a nice day for a ride. She’d been riding everywhere since she was about four years old. Her father was an avid cyclist even back when everyone had two cars per household and drove to the store a half mile away. Her mother would go riding too, up until Raiden was born. Ray’s real name was Raiden. It was the Japanese name for the mythical god of thunder and lightning.

  When she was younger, Dia actually wished she’d gotten a Japanese name, and ironically, Ray wished his name was just Raymond like everyone assumed. But as she grew up she learned to like the name Dia. She wasn’t even sure what it meant or where it came from. Her father always said he’d explain it someday, but he never got the chance. She always assumed it was from some distant relative or something.

  Dia stopped next to the river and looked across at the massive buildings of New York City. She’d been in the annex before but never inside the city. She looked out at the pedestrian bridge that spanned the Hudson River and sipped a gulp of water from her bottle.

  She pedaled up the long concrete ramp that led to the bridge and pulled over into the bike lane. Nervousness faded away with each pedal. The smells of the city were new and wonderful. It smelled like a different world altogether. The adventure was about to begin.

  * * *

  Ray sat there in the guidance office awaiting his appointment with Mrs. Cleese. He didn’t particularly care for her or most of the adults in his life. He didn’t want to think he was smarter than them, that was arrogant, but it sure seemed like it most of the time. A few of them were cool, but most were pretty much brainless morons.

  Mrs. Cleese entered the office and closed the door behind her. She maneuvered her hefty body behind the desk, smoothed her flowery white dress, and sat. “Good morning, Raymond.”

  He groaned. “My name is not Raymond.”

  She made a face. “I’m sorry, Raiden, I always do that.”

  “You could just call me Ray like everyone else.”

  She slid on her thick, red glasses and proceeded to scroll pages on her tablet. “I prefer to use full names while addressing my students.”

  “That’s commendable, but it might help to learn their correct names if you insist on using them.”

  She gave Ray a narrow-eyed glower, probably thinking of a comeback she knew he would have three more comebacks to, so she just moved on with a sigh. She constantly sighed. It was annoying.

  “Okay, Raiden.” She let out another sigh. “It says here that Miss Longo reported you stopped taking your allergy medication again last week. It says you’ve refused it for almost three months now. Why is that?”

  “I don’t need it.”

  She removed her glasses and asked too nicely, “Well, what makes you think you don’t need it?”

  “I don’t have allergies anymore.”

  She puckered her lips and let out another sigh. “Now, Raiden, are you a doctor?”

  “No, but if I were, I’d tell my patients who don’t have allergies not to take medication for them.”

  “Are we to believe that your allergies just cleared up?”

  “Yes, they did. I stopped eating dairy.”

  She sighed. “Yes, that’s the other thing. You have to drink your milk.”

  “No, not really.”

  “It’s good for your growing body.”

  “Actually, there’s no clinical evidence to support that the human body should consume pasteurized dairy products past the age of six. Furthermore, the toxicity of the hormones in milk has been shown to have negative effects on the testosterone and estrogen levels on young people. These government farms use too many hormones to force the cows to produce more milk than they should.”

  She looked at him like he had two heads. “Mmm-hmm, and where did you get that information?”

  “From JEMA.”

  “And what exactly is JEMA?”

  “That would be the Journal of European Medical Associates.”

  “And where did you obtain such reading material?”

  “I have my sources.”

  She shook her head and sighed long and loudly to where it turned into a grunt of frustration. “Well, Raiden, you leave me no choice but to put another demerit on your permanent record. You are now officially past the limit and will be transferred out of this school. Your parents, teachers, and counselors have all agreed that if you reached beyond the demerit threshold limit you would be removed. Now it’s pending on my decision. Do you understand what that means?”

  Ray shrugged. “It’s the risk I take being me.”

  She nodded slowly. “You’ve left me no choice. I’m going to recommend you be transferred out. We’ve tried to get to you conform, but your constant refusal can no longer be ignored. I can no longer—in good conscience—allow you to have a negative influence on your fellow students. You’re about to turn fifteen years old. And this could’ve been avoided if you could’ve just followed the rules like everyone else.”

  He leaned forward. “You know, Mrs. Cleese, this country was founded by good men and women who didn’t follow rules. The light bulb was invented because a smart man didn’t follow rules. All the great things that have taken place through history have been because some fool didn’t follow rules. Now the world is all about rules and regulations, controlled paths through narcotic manipulation. Doesn’t that, in the very least, concern you? Or anyone?”

  She looked at him, smiled stupidly, and said, “You’re too smart for you own good, young man. You’re too young to understand. You can’t live on the history of the world. The world is different now. Where there is no control, there is chaos. Where there is no path, there is aimlessness—”

  “I know, blah-blah-blah, I know the mantra—”

  “Where there is no structure, there is debris.”

  She was a programmed robot, just like the rest of them. “Yes, I know it.”

  “No, Raiden, you don’t seem to. If you did, you’d follow the rules, take your prescribed medications, and choose your path.”

  “You don’t want me to choose a path, you want me to follow one. I would like to choose my own path without being a drugged up zombie.”

  “These medications are important. They protect you from wayward disorder behavior. Even those with the best intentions often stray and make mistakes. In the old world, teenagers would party and take illicit drugs that would ruin their futures. These drugs prevent those behaviors.”

  “And from many of those mistakes came great people.”

  “Maybe in the past that was so, Raiden, but this is a new world, with different distractions. There is a greater good now. There is no room for mistakes anymore. I’m afraid without your meds you will end up outside with the Sifters. You come from a privileged family. The DeRomeos have been well respected for many years, and your parents want you on this path. You can follow your dad into the finance industry. That’s the way it should be.”

  He didn’t dare tell them he wasn’t even a DeRomeo, but part of him wanted to. “I don’t want to be a financial consultant.”

  “You’re too young to know what you want.”

  Ray smiled. “Yeah, and that should be the beauty of it.”

  She scrolled a few pages on her tablet. “Well, I’m going to send your parents the transcripts from this conversation and your updated records. I will meet with them the end of tomorrow, and they will have to make a final decision about your path and the next steps.”

  Ray slouched in his chair.

  Chapter 6

  Tallon interlaced his fingers, pushing the tight leather gloves deeper into the webbing of his hands. He twisted the throttle to its stop, screaming the engine. Then he grabbed the clutch, clicked a gear, and launched the motorcycle into a frantic fit of neck-snapping acceleration.

  The engine howled as he snapped the gears. City blocks started to fly by in absolutely blurring smears of scenery as he neared one hundred and fifty miles per hour in a
matter of seconds.

  At the end of the next block, he grabbed the brakes, locking the back wheel and sending the bike skidding sideways. He feathered the clutch and let the rear tire break loose with a stream of smoke, as the 1000cc engine pushed him forward again. At the next corner, he reached into his pocket with his left hand and gripped his pistol.

  Still at forty miles per hour, he jumped up onto the sidewalk. People scattered in panic. Tallon pointed his gun at a group of men in black suits under the burgundy awning and opened fire.

  He clicked off all sixteen shots, bullets puncturing bodies, and then tossed the gun on the ground among the fallen, riding over the legs of one scumbag. All six men were dead. There was no need to double-check. He was too good of a shot and didn’t miss often.

  He jumped back onto the street and cracked the throttle wide open until the bike once again reached scene-blurring speeds. Leaning in and out of traffic, passing taxis and other cars at such ridiculous speeds was dangerous. But he didn’t have any fear of dying. If he was going out, it was going to be in some spectacular way. Hitting a bus at one hundred and sixty seven miles per hour was definitely spectacular enough. His body would be torn into pieces. They’d never identify him.

  He finally slowed down as he got back into midtown. Weaving in and out of cars at mundane speeds to keep attention to a minimum, he then turned toward the docks, sped into the shipyard, down the pier, and opened up the throttle. The engine gave up one last scream as he launched the bike into the water.

  He somersaulted his body mid-flight to assure that he didn’t land on the bike, and with perfect precision splashed down into the water feet-first.

  Below the surface, he unsnapped his helmet, letting it drop toward the bottom of the river and swam to the rocks under the footbridge to his south.

  After climbing back to shore, Tallon sat under the docks on the slimy river rocks and waited. It was smart to sit there and waste a few minutes just in case anyone saw him go into the river. But chances are no one did. He purposely picked this part of the shipyard because it was long ago abandoned. This used to be a thriving market, a port for high-end import sports cars made by Porsche and Ferrari. But these days nothing of the sort got into New York through here.

  His work completed for the day, he decided to relax. He killed well. He was not particularly fond of killing. He didn’t get any sort of rush from taking a life, but sometimes it had to be done. There was a reason for every death. Some had more meaning than other ones. Even the ones that were not expedited by man had meaning in the grand scheme of things.

  Tallon was not looking forward to his next job. The reporter was innocent, and he didn’t take kindly to killing men who were not deserving of it. Those scumbags he just whacked weren’t innocent. They deserved to die twice, if that were at all possible, for pushing their kiddie porn. That was one of his many side projects. His work for Cortech was growing ever more pedantic.

  Finally, as the sun sank into the horizon, Tallon made his way back up to the shipyard and toward the street.

  Chapter 7

  The bustle of the city was shocking at first. But Dia quickly found herself settling in. She methodically made her way down the spine of Manhattan, trying not to look like she didn’t belong.

  Her mother always said confidence is the key to all things in life. And if you believe you belong, you do. Fake it until you make it. That advice had made perfect sense, and she always had the ability to employ it.

  No one really seemed to notice her as she trolled the streets. That was a different feeling. Out in the land of the lost, everyone noticed everyone. You couldn’t walk ten feet without someone watching you, looking for some sinister game in your steps. The feeling of not trusting anyone and anything had become a way of life.

  She pedaled her bike slowly, staying on the sidewalks, keeping pace with the walkers. No one seemed to mind as long as she stayed at this pace.

  Some wonderful smell stopped her in her tracks. She gazed through the window of a pizza shop and literally felt her mouth start to produce enough saliva to usher in a drool of epic proportions. A quick swallow kept her from becoming a spectacle. She was starving, but didn’t have a lot of cash. Buying food here was nothing like the encampments that would take whatever money you had. In the city, you needed real money, and a lot of it. One slice of pizza would probably cost her everything in her pocket. But she was so hungry for some real civilization junk food.

  Dia stepped off her ride and pushed it past the shop with a sigh. She didn’t want to tease herself with the visions of warm, cheesy goodness. She came to the alley past the shop and saw a bunch of people lined up at the side door.

  Walking up to a pretty girl who looked about her age, she gave the universal up-nod of hey, what’s up? The girl had big blue eyes, shoulder-length pink and blonde hair. She was dressed in a black purpose-torn T-shirt with a tiger on it, and super-small cut denim shorts with the pockets prominently hanging on her thighs. She looked like the type that should have twenty face piercings and tattoos, but Dia didn’t see a single one of either.

  Dia stepped closer to the girl. “What’s going with this line?”

  The girl looked at her with disdain, then turned her nose up as she looked away with no reply.

  Dia wasn’t one to take kindly to being ignored, and she wasn’t about to let it slide. “Hey, I asked you a question. What’s this line for?”

  The girl frowned and looked her up and down. “None of your business.”

  Dia huffed. “This is a public place. I think it’s some of my business.”

  The girl turned to her, raked her top teeth over her cherry lips, and aggressively set her stance. “You got a smart mouth, bitch. Maybe I should smack out what your momma didn’t.”

  Dia smirked. “Choose your first move wisely, for it tells your second move.”

  The girl took an aggressive step toward her. “You think you’re some kind of wiseass?”

  “I think you don’t want to mess with me.” Dia stood at the ready.

  “Well, I’m about to mess you up!” The girl poked her shoulder.

  Dia firmed her lips. “Don’t do it. You don’t want this.”

  “Screw you.” The girl threw two-handed push at her.

  Dia blocked it quickly and threw a quick jab to the girl’s gut, then followed with a quick slap to her mouth. The pink-haired girl staggered in surprise, got her feet crossed up, and tripped over a broken piece of the asphalt. She fell onto her hands and knees.

  Dia felt bad immediately. It wasn’t a fair fight. This girl was obviously not well trained like she was; few were. She reached down, held her hand out to the fallen girl. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

  The girl looked up at her.

  Dia motioned with her fingers. “C’mon, I’m sorry. Really.”

  She took a few deep breaths and begrudgingly took Dia’s hand to pull herself upright. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m Dia.”

  She wiped her mouth. “Am I bleeding?”

  Dia shook her head. “No, I didn’t hit you that hard.”

  The girl winced. “I know when I’m beat. Are you some kind of trained killer or something?” She smoothed her clothes and fixed her hair with raking fingers. “You could have really messed me up. Most girls don’t even try me. What the heck are you, some kind of assassin?”

  “I’m nothing special. My father taught me to fight.” Dia handed the girl a wet-nap from her pocket. “Here, use this.”

  “Was he a hitter? A whacker?” She took the wet-nap, opened the package, and started cleaning herself up.

  “A soldier. He was stationed in Japan, studied martial arts and taught me from the time I was a kid.”

  “Geezus, he taught you well. My dad was a soldier too. I’ve learned a few things from my dad and brother but, damn, girl.”

  “Sorry. It was just a reaction. Now I feel bad.”

  She bent to wipe her knees off. “Hey, I went at you, I deserved
it. Usually I hit someone and they hit the ground, and that’s the end of it.” She stood upright. “I’m kind of a badass around these parts.”

  Dia laughed. “What’s your name?”

  “Chloe.” She crumpled the wet-nap and tossed it into the nearby dumpster. “And to answer your original question, this is the line for free pizza.”

  Dia could not hide her excitement. “What? Free pizza? Are you kidding? Really free? No catches?”

  Chloe looked at her with a cute tilt of her head. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Dia shook her head. “No, I’m… I just moved here.”

  “Moved here?” Chloe pursed her plump lips until they rounded into a circle. “From where?”

  Dia looked around. “How do we get the free pizza?”

  “We just wait. They toss out the stuff in the displays that doesn’t sell after a few hours. It’s not usually hot anymore, but it’s damn good.”

  “I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.” Dia looked over the line of people. “How much is there going to be?”

  Chloe looked down the line too. “There’ll be enough this time of day. This line isn’t that long. There’ll be more than we want to eat. You don’t want to come back at dinner time ‘cuz it’s mayhem.”

  “I hope there’s enough. I can eat a lot.”

  The red door to the alley opened up, and a man in a white smock held a stack of pizza boxes. He placed them on a pile of wooden pallets and turned back inside, the door swinging shut behind him.

  A tall man in a blue jogging suit seemed to take control of the situation. The ten or so people in the line all moved to the stack. Dia was prepared to knock someone out for a slice of pizza, but much to her shock, it was remarkably civil. The people one-by-one walked up to the pallets and the tall man handed them a box.

  They each took hold of a box and moved on. Dia waited patiently behind Chloe.

  Chloe walked up to the tall man. “Hi, Fenner. How’re you today?”

  The man had a shaved head and a stern expression behind his white beard. But everything looked jolly when he spoke. He looked like a skinny Santa Claus. “Hi, Chloe. Do you need a whole pie today or just a couple slices? Whatever we don’t take, I’m bringing over to the A-Street Shelter.”