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Haven Ward
By Elias Witherow
Chapter 1
Thunder growled above the shuffling throngs of people as they trudged along. A heavy rain fell from gutted clouds, lightning illuminating empty faces. The thick mud slowed their progression as it welled up and tried to swallow their feet. Sludge and filth were everywhere. When it rained in the Gallows, it accented the despair that wrapped itself around the residents in a suffocating grip.
More thunder exploded overhead, but the people below only shifted their hoods, hiding their faces deeper into their own pain. The sharp buildings in the distance rose high, cutting up into the night sky, standing tall and grey. Every time lightning struck, it appeared as if the buildings sliced deeper into the storm.
Most of the lost souls in the Gallows, suffering, surviving, would never get to see those buildings up close. They were confined to this shit infested slum till they died and were trod underfoot, churned back into the filth from which they were born. Not a single person realistically thought they would ever see those haunting skyscrapers up close. No one would make it into Red City. No one would even make it into the closer section of the sprawling three class metropolis. Midtown, the gateway to a better life and the doorway to Red City was enclosed by a wall that kept the filth from the Gallows out of the two upper class sections. And so the residents of the Gallows suffered on, consumed by the rot and dirt, the absent of hope, existence in silence.
I hitched my own hood up higher on my head, keeping my brown eyes buried in shadow, turning them black. I didn’t want anyone to notice me or my little band of followers that trailed behind me. No one did, because no one cared about a bunch of kids.
Lightning raced across the sky and those damn buildings mocked me. I had given up hope of ever leaving the Gallows long ago. This slum would be my coffin. It was all I had ever known. I often wondered what the world had been like before Detox Day. The day that had started the decline of mankind. The day that humanity had finally snapped. The day that the drugs had run out. Almost every person in the world hounding and hunting for a fix, murdering, rioting, destroying. Everyone was an addict. Or had been before that horrible day. Part of me wished I could have had a taste of that life, before all the junkies burned the world.
I shook myself out of my thoughts. It was stupid and pointless to dwell on it. I had been born long after Detox Day. This was the world I knew. I could work with shit.
I fingered the glu in my pocket, just a handful of tabs left. My feet pushed the mud aside, one step at a time, the cold rain soaking me. I needed to get this job done and done right. This was the first big assignment King had given me and I couldn’t screw it up. I felt honored that he trusted me enough to take on the job.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and instinctively, I reached for the gun hidden in my belt, under my cloak. I turned and saw that it was just Roland, my best friend. Without slowing my walk, I leaned my head back a little.
“What is it?”
“Are we close Weston?”
“Yes, we’re almost there. Stay sharp. Tell Mathis and Bird I want them to go around to the back side of the Gern when we get there, in case something goes wrong.”
I focused on the small building towards the end of the street, shivering slightly as the rain tried to eat into my clothes. I heard Roland whispering the message back to the rest of my gang. I was hoping things would go smoothly. They never did though, not in the Gallows where the scum clustered and had a pulse. I was worried that the tribe leader I was meeting with would be offended that King had sent kids to make the transaction. Maybe they’d try and take advantage of that.
I rested my hand on the butt of my pistol for reassurance. Roland had one also, but Bird and Mathis sported knives. Guns were expensive and I had had to save my glu for months, often going for days without eating so I could buy it. It was painful, saving away one milky blue tablet at a time. But it had paid off.
We had reached the end of the street, the door to the Gern in front of us. I could hear loud voices from inside and I swallowed hard. I had to do this. No turning back now. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bird and Mathis slink around towards the back. Good guys those two. They obeyed my word without question, silent and able.
My eyes shifted to Roland’s and he met my stare. He didn’t look scared. He looked ready, his face a rock. It gave me the strength I needed to open the door and walk into the Gern.
Booming laughter slapped me in the face as we entered. The stink of unwashed flesh and stale breath was nauseating. The air was thick and hot, dead and rotting, cigarette smoke wafting around the ceiling, lazily trying to escape like a drugged convict. I pushed my hood off my face, scanning the sea of dirty faces for Drake, head of the Hunter Tribe. Tables were scattered around the room, cheap and scratched metal chairs littered the floor, piss and spit everywhere. Spilled booze lay in puddles on the floor, coming from the mugs of the drunk. Men stood by the bar, talking, laughing, miserable. It was all artificial. Gerns were places where people went and pretended like everything was like the old world. Before Detox Day. This is what people did before right?
“We need to do this quickly, boss, before things get messy. People are already looking at us,” Roland muttered at my side.
“Just be cool,” I said quietly, “We’re here on business, they have to respect that.” He was right though, people were looking at us. Wondering. Wondering what the hell a couple a kids were doing here on Hunter turf this late at night. Most children were holed away for the night, crying themselves to sleep as hunger racked their insides, afraid to go out into the darkness.
“Lookit, it’s a couple of mud rats!” Someone from the bar cried.
I ignored him and kept looking. Where the hell was Drake? I could feel a timer counting down in the back of my head. We needed to move this along.
Suddenly, one of the men was in our faces, drunkenly stumbling in front of us, a thick black beard covering most his ugly face. He was huge, looming over us. I felt a flutter of terror. I didn’t move, tried to look past him. I felt Roland shift beside me.
“You kids’ll h-have any glu?!” he slurred, steadying himself, “Buy me drink!” His breath nearly knocked me on my ass.
“Move along,” I said quietly, “We’re here on business with Drake.” I felt Roland tense, ready, willing. I put a hand on his arm without looking at him. Relax.
“First...first you have to..do some business with me!” the man said, eyes never focusing, alcohol buzzing his senses.
Wordlessly, I pushed past him, deeper into the Gern. I hadn’t taken two steps when I rough hand grabbed me and spun me around, violence sparking the air.
“Don’t you walk...away from me!” the man growled. Now we had the full attention of the Gern, everyone watching how we would react. Everyone watching the children get bullied.
I felt fear seep deep into my body, but I quickly steeled myself and slapped the man’s hand away, “Don’t touch me.”
The crowd roared with laughter and a woman at the bar slammed her mug down and yelled, “Watch out! The kid’s going to fight you!” More laughter. We were becoming sport. I could tell Roland wanted to blast this drunk away. I needed to take control.
A man stepped forward aggressively, his face breaking out into a dangerous smile, “You want to hit me? You think I won’t rip you apart you little mud rat?! I don’t give a damn if you’re only ten years old, we’re all the same in the Gallows.”
“I’m twelve,” I said, standing my ground, but wishing I could evaporate out of this situation.
The man threw his head back and barked a laugh, “Ok, so what, you think you can take me?”
Roland had his hand under his cloak, “Back off. We’re part of King’s crew.”
“We’re here to do business with Drake, he’s expecting us.”
Silence.
Frustrated and scared, “We’re not here to cause any trouble. Now please, does anyone know where Drake is?” my voice sounded weak and pathetic. I hated it. For someone my age, presentation was everything and right now I was royally failing to represent my tribe.
“Over this way little warrior,” a deep voice rumbled, breaking the acidic silence.
My eyes searched for the voice and I spotted the source over in the corner. Drake was a massive black man, arms as thick as my body, his bald head shining in the sickly heat of the Gern. He sat with his chair leaned back against the wall, smoking a cigarette, surrounded by men who were just as big as he was.
Swallowing, focusing, I nodded towards him, “May we approach?”
He spread his arms, “By all means.” His voice was thick as tar, each word wet and heavy.
All eyes on us, Roland and I went to his table, standing before him. I felt like this whole situation was made out of glass and one wrong word could shatter it. I needed to cool the room. I thought of Bird and Mathis out back, waiting, poised, ready to pounce if things got out of control.
“May we sit?” I asked. He said nothing, his midnight black eyes boring into my skull.
I licked my lips, “King sent us, we have business to discuss?”
Drake took a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the blue grey tendrals fade into the air. He said nothing.
“Are you going to talk to us or what?” Roland asked, his voice like a razor. I shut my eyes tight, wishing he hadn’t said anything.
Drake seemed unaffected by the tone of the question. Instead he leaned forward, voice almost sultry, “Tell me this. Why does King send a pair of mud rats to do his work for him? Does his gang really grow so thin?”
A few chuckles echoed around us. I put one hand on the table, the other out stretched towards him, “May we smoke with you?” Here in the Gallows, asking to smoke with someone was a sign of friendship. If he declined, shit was going to hit the fan fast. I braced myself.
Seconds passed, each one causing me to break out into an even heavier sweat. Finally Drake broke out into a huge smile, his laughter shaking the walls. He gestured towards the chairs, “Please, have a seat. You have a lot of guts coming in here kid, I’ll give you that.”
Roland and I sat, feeling the tension of the Gern leave us. I breathed. The drinking and laughter started up again. Drake held out a cigarette to me and I took it. I leaned in and he lit it with an old match. I held in a cough as the smoke racked my throat. I felt nauseous, but I kept sucking on the disgusting thing.
Drake excavated his own smoke from his mouth and licked some moisture back onto his lips before saying, “So tell me little warrior. You are from King’s crew? I assume you’re here for the papers. Did you bring the glu?”
I passed the smoke to Roland who seemed to have a little better luck looking natural, “So long as you have the papers? Yes.”
He picked up his glass and drained the booze before speaking again, “And just why is King so eager to gain access to Midtown? You think they’ll let maggots like him in there? There’s no going up from here brothers.” I knew he was right, knew that we had no business being in Midtown, but I had always thought King would fit right in, at least from what I had heard about the place. Middle class, comfortable, the silent flock that quietly grazed on the boundaries of success and failure.
Roland exhaled, “What he does isn’t any of your business. We’re just here to see this transaction through.”
“God Roland, shut up,” I muttered under my breath. Roland was a good guy, but he spoke at the worst times.
Drake’s heavy eyes fell on him, “You better stay silent boy and let your Lieutenant do the talking.”
I flicked a finger, “Give him the glu Roland.”
Drake’s face lit up greedily as Roland placed the jar of thick blue liquid on the table. The pearly substance appeared to be constantly shifting in its glass prison.
Drake reached for it, but I pulled it back, “Please. The papers?”
Reluctantly, he pulled from his pocket an envelope and tossed it at me. I caught it an ripped it open, checking to make sure it was valid.
“There’s no need for that,” Drake smiled, “I am a most trusting business partner. I always hold up my end of the deal.”
I glanced at him, “I can see that.” I pushed the glu at him and he made it disappear into his coat. We sat staring at each other. I was unsure now. This was my first exchange like this. What was expected of me? What did the older men do? Did they sit and share a drink with their business partner than excuse themselves politely after, cementing the finality of the deal? I didn’t know. I felt small and very much my age. The silence dragged on.
“I guess that’s that,” I said finally, standing. Now that the deal was done, I wanted to vacate this place immediately.
“It’s been a pleasure,” Drake said spreading his arms, “Tell King I send my regards.”
“Of course.”
Roland at my side, we headed towards the door. I leaned in and whispered to him, “When we’re out, go get Mathis and Bird as quick as you can. We need to get back onto our turf fast. I don’t like being out this late in dangerous territory.”
“You got it boss.”
We pushed through the door and Roland went to retrieve the rest of my gang. I stood off to the side, one hand on my gun, the other tapping the wall I was leaning against. Come on, come on. The rain was still coming down and it chilled me to the core. I put my hood back on, head up, looking into the night sky. The moon was hidden behind the mass of pulsing tar-black clouds, cast away and rejected by the storm. I don’t ever remember seeing the moon, pure and pale like the stories I heard told. To me, the moon was a hazy light hiding its face from the world behind heavy clouds.
A neon sign was lit up across the street, advertising that the winnings to the Draw was up to thirty thousand gallons of glu. I had often flirted with the idea of trying my luck and buying a card, but I knew that the Draw was a dangerous game. If you won, you were set for life, the winnings also coming with a pass to live in the Red City where only the rich dwelled. But like all things, there was a flip side. You could lose the Draw. If you lost you could owe the Sanction glu. I knew a kid who was in King’s tribe who had played and lost. He owed the Sanction glu he didn’t have and a couple days later he had been shipped off to Haven Ward. Haven Ward was the place they took you if you couldn’t pay. Nightmares surrounded that place. No one knew much about the prison, but rumor had it if you were taken there, you weren’t coming back.
The Sanction ran this part of the world. It was a form of government that had been set up only weeks after Detox Day. They were the iron fist. Red City, Midtown, the Gallows, Haven Ward, they were all under the thumb of the Sanction. They were the law. Everything went through the Sanction.
They were responsible for the form of currency we used too. I hadn’t been alive when people used money. Now everything was paid for with glu. No one seemed to know just what exactly the stuff was, but there was a hook that damned any questions asked about it.
It was the only drug left. Before the Sanction had established their throne, the whole world had slowly descended into shit and people had turned to drugs. It was the only form of comfort in a world that bled ashes. Eventually people had turned into zombies and the only thing that they felt besides despair was their high. The colors of the world ran grey from all the drugs. Things that mattered slowly didn’t. Love, unity, happiness, joy became extinct. Greed, anger, hate, need, and want became dominate. In everyone. The only thing that mattered was getting a f
ix.
But then the drugs started running out. Everyone was using, everyone was addicted, and the drugs became harder and harder to get because of it. Violence began to bloom. The dealers and growers couldn’t keep up with the high demand for it and eventually started using their own product until nothing was left.
Soon after, Detox Day hit. The day where the world went insane, screaming and killing for the smallest bit of dope. Soon after, the Sanction had been established and glu was distributed all over the world. The people screamed for it, begged for it. Because of this, the Sanction had gained power. Soon money became useless and people traded food for glu.
Glu was the only thing that held any worth anymore. And it was lethally addicting. But, if you were poor and lived in the Gallows, it was your ticket to food and survival. Most wouldn’t use it to get high, they’d use it so they could feed themselves. Midtown was a different story. Midtown was the middle class of the three sectioned metropolis. For the most part, it was quiet and didn’t meddle in the affairs of the other two class extremes. People worked, ate, lived, and if they felt like it, they’d get high.
Red City. Red City was the epitome of everything the Gallows people hated. The residents of Red City were rich, spoiled, shooting up whenever they felt the slightest itch. Most worked for the Sanction instead of the city and could practically bath in glu.
The Sanction was in full control of the two higher class sections, but its grip on the Gallows was weak. That was mostly due to the fact that they didn’t care about it. It was a dirty grimy place, filled with the worst kinds of people. Cheats, thieves, murderers, not to mention the heavy tribe and gang influence that ran it. The few honest people would try make a living by selling random scraps of metal used for making weapons or setting up vendors to sell food. Or what they said was food. It was a meager, miserable existence and everyone silently suffered.
The Sanction didn’t make anything easy for anyone. They knew they had the rich hooked on their drug and the poor fought to get a taste. They had everyone in the palm of their hand and if anyone got out of line, the Hazmats would come storming in and ship them off to Haven Ward. Hazmats were the police of the world, a nasty figure of the Sanction’s authority. Brutal, unforgiving, violent. You did not want to cross paths with them.
Haven Ward Page 1