The Walls of Orion

by T. D. Fox

She waited. “I think I’m following this conversation as much as the game.”

  “Surrounded by crazy people. Working a crazy job, in a crazy city, waiting for the next crazy thing to happen and hoping it doesn’t happen to you.”

  A prickle ran up her spine. “You’re talking about the news this morning.”

  “Something happened this morning?” The cards shuffled through his long fingers with a magician’s flair. “Don’t watch the news much.”

  She frowned at him. “I suppose that’s one way to survive in this town.”

  “Who wants to survive? I quit surviving ages ago. You should quit, too. What a boring habit.”

  Courtney stared. “More of a basic instinct, I think.”

  “No. Our instinct is to live.” The cards fluttered with a rippling swoosh. “Big concrete Walls can make a body forget that, though.”

  The prickle intensified. Courtney shifted on the bench, dropping her eyes from the cards.

  “You disagree?” W said. “You think you’re living?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  A low hum, half amused, half sympathetic. “What happened on the news this morning?”

  Courtney thought back to the article she’d skimmed on her lunch break, sifting for details of the story she’d heard on the radio earlier. “A vigilante stole two cops’ cruisers while they used their patrol time to visit a brothel on Fifth. Left them at the top of the Bailey building. Took a crane to get them down.”

  W grinned. “The Giant, then?”

  “Who else could carry them all the way up there?”

  “Our boys in blue are truly charming.”

  Courtney shook her head, unsure whether to feel amused, outraged, or nothing at all. “The cops in this city think with a different head than the one between their ears.”

  “Tsk. Tsk. Vulgarity doesn’t suit you, C. Words are the knives weak people throw.”

  Irritation flashed through her. “Yeah, well it’s not like I could throw a real knife at one.”

  “Would you like to?”

  She glanced up. The smile remained, but the glint behind his pale eyes was... something she’d never seen before. On anyone.

  “Teasing you, sweetheart.” He leaned back as she relaxed, regarding her with a fading smile. “Crazy is a subjective term, you know. The media paints it over the Orion Giant, but in reality it’s our sad little arms of the law.”

  “Just because they’re corrupt doesn’t make them crazy.”

  “According to this society. What’s your definition of crazy?”

  “I...” Courtney forgot herself for a moment, and brought her eyes straight up to his. She was met with a knowing grin. “Sorry! No, I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did.”

  She backpedaled in a panic. “But, I mean, you’re not. You may be a little eccentric, but you can have an intelligent conversation.”

  “True. I’ve been ignoring the voices the whole time we’ve sat here speaking. They keep telling me to kill you.” The sound of the rain pattering on the window filled the space between them. W threw back his head and laughed so loud Courtney jumped. “The look on your face! You’re gonna be fun.”

  “That wasn’t funny,” she snapped. “Half the staff here already think you’re a White Coat escapee.”

  “So what if I am? Crazy’s just a label, after all. We’re all crazy, darlin’. Most of us just haven’t learnt it yet.” His grin widened. “Take you, for example. You spend all your energy running from the shadow of the Wall. But does it ever go away? No. You can’t outrun the dark, my dear.”

  Her mouth felt drier than expected. “I...”

  “It’s okay,” W said. “You’re not alone. The rest of the world is right on your heels. Insanity. Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Nailing down rules and expecting people to fall into order. Expecting structure and stiffness to make society better. When it never works. You show up every day hoping the next one will be different. You sprint away on your little hamster wheel of survival, tell yourself you’ll be closer tomorrow, but when you go to bed at night you can’t remember what goal you’re chasing. Revolution follows revolution, hoping one of these backwashed ideas will finally change the world. Life’s not nearly as sane as you make it out to be.”

  Courtney pressed her fingertips against her temples. The little cavity behind her eyes had started to ache. Yet, here she sat, still listening to this crazy-not-crazy customer.

  “Okay,” she said. “You’ve got a point. I work myself to death, and I don’t know why. But that makes me a workaholic, not crazy.”

  “Au contraire. It makes you a soldier without a cause. A gun under the floorboards, dry timber in a house fire. The perfect combo of potential energy and kinetic tension. Makes sense why your poor coworker’s drawn to you, and why he inevitably won’t be enough.”

  She looked up, wary again. But there was no flirtatious gleam in his eye, not a hint of lechery. He’d stated it like a simple fact. Curiosity sparked.

  “Why?”

  “Because.” W stood, swept the cards into a pile, and winked down at her. “You’re the most interesting person in this joint.”

  As he rose, Courtney glanced at the clock. She jerked to her feet.

  “I’ve got to be back here in eight hours,” she groaned.

  W chuckled. “The grind never stops.”

  She watched him tuck the cards into his coat and straighten up. She had to crane her neck back to meet his eyes. Without the added height of the raised barista floor, he towered nearly a foot over her head. Flushing when she realized she’d held his gaze a beat too long again, she blurted a little too sharply, “I do need to kick you out.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled, warmth touching the icy gray. “Understood.” He swept an arm with an exaggerated flourish toward the door. “After you?”

  “Um. Technically, I’m supposed to be the last person to leave. Rules.”

  “Ah, rules. Aren’t you bored with them?”

  “I’d like to keep my job.”

  He gave her a pointed look, but walked past her toward the door.

  Courtney checked the café one last time, turned out the lights, and fished out her keys to lock up. Tugging the doors shut, she stepped out onto the sidewalk—and backed straight into a hard chest.

  She pivoted with a quick inhale. He’d waited for her.

  “Do you have a ride home?”

  “No.” Why was her heart thumping? “It’s not that far of a walk.”

  “At this hour of the night? I’ll walk with you.”

  “Thanks, but I walk myself home every night. I’ll be fine.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “I’ve got pepper spray. I can handle myself.”

  He laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you can. Still. All it takes is one bad night. Doesn’t hurt to stay protected.” He shook his head, but left it alone. “I suppose I’ll bid you good night here then.”

  She was grateful he didn’t push the issue. She didn’t know if she wanted him following her through the dark streets of Westside Orion. Definitely she didn’t like the idea of him knowing where she lived.

  “Goodnight,” she said.

  His smile glinted in the light of the streetlamps. A silver tooth flashed behind one of his incisors. “Take care, C.”

  He turned and strode down the street. Courtney watched him for a minute, until his silhouette faded into the rain. She turned and made her way toward the apartment blocks in the opposite direction.

  The rain tickled her hair. She started to throw up her hood, and paused. Why bother? Her braid was already coming loose, and she’d have to shower before bed anyway. On a whim, she pulled her long hair out of the hoodie and undid the braid, letting it flutter around her shoulders. Raindrops ran unchecked down her temples and forehead. A little out of the ordinary, to be sure, but the strangeness felt refreshing. Maybe she’d donate her umbrella.

  Halfway through her walk, a faint sound cut through the gentle p
atter. She stopped. Somewhere, a ways off, someone was whistling. The distant, eerie tune drifted on the night air. She tipped her head, transfixed, unable to place where it was coming from.

  A cold, fat raindrop landed on her nose. She shook herself. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she ducked her head and picked up her pace.

  The lilting melody followed her all the way home.

  3. SOMEONE ELSE'S CRAZY

  “COURT. COURTNEY. Court-neeeeeeeeeey.”

  Beep.

  “Courtney Spencer. Answer your damn phone.”

  Beep.

  “Girl. I’m starting to worry. Call me?”

  Beep.

  “I’m going to knock down your front door—”

  Courtney sighed, pinning the phone against one ear as she measured out her spaghetti. Dina had left eight messages in the last forty-eight hours. She hadn’t even made it through the first four. They grew higher and higher in pitch, increasingly desperate. She hit end on her voicemail, tapped her speed dial, and lifted the phone to her ear again.

  Dina picked up on the second ring. “Explain.”

  “Hello to you, too.”

  “You’ve been dodging my calls for two days.” The phone crackled with static as she exhaled. “I’m coming over.”

  Courtney tipped the spaghetti into the boiling pot. “Is there any point in telling you not to?”

  “No. We’re going out. You need to get out of that apartment. And away from that café.”

  “Dee, I can’t afford to be hungover in the morning.”

  “Call in sick! Lord knows you deserve a day off.” In the background, the heavy squeal of brakes echoed. “I’m there in fifteen. Brush your hair and put on some high heels.”

  “Din—”

  “No buts! I’m already on the bus. Toodles.”

  The phone clicked. Courtney slipped it off her shoulder, cranked the stove up to high, and watched the steam writhe up around her soggy noodles. She may as well have something in her stomach before Dina pumped it full of alcohol.

  It’d be a lie if she told herself she wasn’t partly relieved. Her best friend’s tenacity had pulled her out of darker slumps. Dina had been there for her in the preteen years, after her Mom had left. Back then, Dee’s pick-me-ups had involved pink lip gloss and a trip to the mall. It worked about as well as a Band-Aid on a broken bone. But still, Dina knew her better than anyone—or at least, about as well as Courtney let anyone know her. Maybe tonight would take the edge off the restlessness she’d been able to hide from less and less lately.

  Courtney strained the noodles before they were ready, and poured half a jar of Prego over the bowl. The ensuing steam made her mouth water. Carrying the bowl to the sofa, she shoveled as many forkfuls into her mouth as she could before the doorbell buzzed.

  Dina glared at her when she opened the door. “You look like hell.”

  “Good to see you too, Dee.”

  All scarlet lips and strappy heels, copper skin glowing against a short red dress, Courtney’s best friend looked out of place on her dingy porch front. Dina Ramirez belonged beneath bright happy lights, or, at the very least, the open air of the central city, away from the Wall’s looming shadow. Why she frequented Courtney’s gloomy little Westside apartment was a mystery—at least to their old classmates.

  “Is that spaghetti?” Dark hair styled in a neat chin-length bob, her nails freshly manicured and bloodred, Dina’s dark eyes flashed over her. She enjoyed all the perks of an inner city job. Out here near the Wall, Courtney couldn’t care less about rationing her slim paycheck for a manicure to impress neighbors she never saw. “You were supposed to be getting ready.”

  “I just got off work—hey!”

  She almost dropped her bowl as Dina grabbed her by the arm and steered her back into the apartment, rattling off her new to-do list.

  “’Kay. Lipstick. Eyeliner. Curling iron. You got a dress? No, I don’t mean that grandma thing you wore last time. Something sexy. Where’s that red number I bought you last month? Ooh, and those black pumps...”

  Thirty minutes later, Courtney bumped against Dina as their heels clacked against the sidewalk. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she said, the satin hem of her dress swishing against her calves and inviting in every gust of wind. She shivered, arms locked around her middle.

  Dina bumped her right back. “It’ll be warmer inside.”

  “It’s already late. We’ll just have to turn right around to get back before curfew.”

  “You think the cops care about enforcing curfew on a Friday night?”

  The streetlights glittered along Main, which bustled with activity even as the clock crept past ten. Dina was right. Shop windows and neon signs glowed, people moving up and down the sidewalks in no hurry to get home. Even a couple cops lounged beside their squad car enjoying a beer in front of a pizza parlor. Courtney hoped they were off duty. She doubted it.

  “Spare change, miss?”

  The raspy voice at knee level made Dina jump. Courtney looked down to see a girl, somewhere under the age of ten, squatting beside a cracked ceramic mug on the sidewalk. Her nose was red. The holes in her jacket didn’t look stylized. She lifted the mug out when she saw them pause.

  “Um,” Dina said, then rifled through her purse. “Yeah, hang on...”

  Courtney slipped a hand into her own purse and fished around for the tips she’d brought home that day. She pulled out a handful of small bills and held them out to the girl. The child rose to her feet and gripped them with wide eyes.

  “Thanks, lady. I like your dress.”

  “Hey, you!” The voice boomed down the sidewalk from the pizza parlor. One of the cops leaning against the squad car had turned in their direction, glaring eyes fixed on the red-nosed girl. “No soliciting on this street!”

  The girl balked, stuffed the mug and change into her oversized coat, and took off. The cop swore something foul after her and waved a hand in resignation. He glanced over at them.

  “Sorry, ladies. Hope that little scamp wasn’t buggin’ ya.” His eyes trailed over their attire. “Y’all don’t plan on staying out too late, now. Might have to pick ya up for breaking curfew.”

  “Or do stay out,” said his buddy. “We could have some fun of our own. This shift needs to liven up.”

  The roguish tilt of his mouth made Dina fake a gag once they’d passed them by. “Don’t ever date a cop, Court.”

  “Ew. Why would you even say that?”

  “Because that one was good-looking before he opened his mouth. If you ever finally decide to get out there, make sure it’s not for a guy in uniform.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that.” Courtney glanced over her shoulder, looking for the girl. Both cops leered after them. She turned back.

  “I hope she’s smarter about where she panhandles next time,” she murmured. It wasn’t uncommon to see kids on the streets. In fact, they made up about half the homeless population. After the Wall had gone up, one by one the government programs had caved in around the city, leaving scrappy essentials behind. Only public safety, infrastructure maintenance, and a few hospitals remained city-sponsored. Social programs like child protective services had been the first to crumble. The supposed protective services that remained, such as law enforcement, had backslid down the seedy slope of corruption and lack of accountability. Any kids on the streets ended up in juvenile detention centers for petty crimes if the police bothered to catch them. Foster homes and care centers were a thing of the past.

  “You know, I do worry.”

  Courtney turned back to look at her friend, who’d stopped, and backtracked to pinpoint which part of the conversation Dina was referring to. “About what?”

  “You.”

  Courtney blinked. “Why?”

  “Your whole single-’til-the-apocalypse bravado.” Shuffling in her heels, Dina poked at a quarter stuck to the sidewalk with the toe of her shoe. “Look around. The apocalypse happened ten years ago, at least in th
is city.”

  “Oh.” Wishing she had her big coat to retreat deeper into, Courtney looked at the sidewalk too. “I didn’t know you had a problem with it.”

  “I don’t! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to monopolize your time—or whatever’s left of it, you workaholic, but... I do want you to be happy.”

  “Dating isn’t a cure for unhappiness.”

  “No, it’s not, but... I hate seeing you work yourself to death just to avoid an empty apartment. I wish you’d just room with me.”

  “I can’t afford to live on Eastside.”

  “I told you I’d help with rent.”

  Courtney clenched her hands around her elbows. “I don’t feel right about that.”

  “I know, and that’s both what makes you a great friend and why I hate your stubborn guts sometimes.” Dina kicked the quarter and, when it didn’t move, kept walking. “I’d move in with you, but... Westside is scary.”

  Courtney shrugged. “I like it.”

  “That’s the problem!” Looping an elbow through hers, Dina gripped Courtney’s forearm. “You find excitement in the wrong things. Can’t you find stimulation in normal entertainment like a night on the town? Or letting someone finally sweep you off your feet?”

  Courtney smirked. “You’re not subtle, Dee. If you want to set me up with someone, just do it.”

  “You think I haven’t thought about it!” Dina smacked her arm, then dropped it. “I’d set you up with any one of my friends, if I only thought you’d give them a chance.”

  “Who says I won’t?”

  “I know you too well for that.”

  The intersection holding Dina’s favorite club approached at the end of the street. Courtney watched the lights glistening behind the tinted windows, the faint pulse of music drifting out over the nighttime pedestrians, and sighed.

  “I have enough to deal with in my life without adding the unpredictability of a man to the mix,” she confessed.

  They slowed their pace as they approached the intersection. After a long moment, Dina asked, “Has your Dad been dropping by lately?”

  “Yet another reason I live in Westside,” Courtney muttered. “Not the safest place to loiter on a locked doorstep.”