Unbreakable

by Will McIntosh

  “Not hard to figure out this town,” Anand said.

  “Not hard to figure out what their thing is,” Celia said, “The question is, why does every town have to have a thing?” She kept her voice low, and couldn’t help feeling a little ashamed, talking about what you weren’t supposed to talk about. Old habits were hard to break.

  “I think we’re all white rats in a giant laboratory.” Anand held up one hand. “And no, I don’t know what the point of the experiment would be, so don’t ask.”

  She’d been about to ask. It was nice, having someone to talk with about this stuff. Anand didn’t seem at all sheepish about the topic.

  “You hear that?” Anand asked.

  Celia listened. It was a rumble of voices.

  They followed the sound into a park, where a wedding was underway. Smartly-dressed people sat in rows of folding chairs, all eyes on the bride, who was standing on a portable stage in a scallop-edged bridal gown, white with gold trim. Her bridesmaids were lined up to one side, dressed in identical lavender gowns. At the base of the stage, five men in black tuxedos stood shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped behind their backs, looking up at the bride.

  It all looked familiar to Celia from a dozen movies, except for the backdrop. Behind the wedding party, five big transparent tubes trailed out of the underside of a sphere. Big white balls were bouncing and colliding inside the sphere, evidently blown by air. Below, the five tubes merged into one that ended at stage-level.

  Most important, though, was a long table set up to Celia’s right, which held not only a tall wedding cake, but dozens of plates and bowls of food for the reception. She nudged Anand and gestured toward the table.

  “I know,” Anand whispered.

  Celia and Anand inched their way through the onlookers at the periphery, as the minister spoke solemnly of commitment, the sacred bond of marriage, all the usual stuff. Then he paused, nodded his head slightly, and looked down at the five men.

  “Is each of you prepared to take this solemn oath with Elsa, should you be so lucky?”

  They answered in unison, “I am.”

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Celia murmured. Each of the white balls in the sphere had a picture on it, and although they were bouncing and spinning too swiftly for Celia to make out the pictures, she had a pretty good idea what they were.

  The minister turned and approached the bride. “Elsa, your fortune is in your hands. Are you ready for this commitment?”

  “I am.” Elsa sounded nervous beyond belief. Celia couldn’t blame her.

  “Please let it be Jaden,” a woman sitting in the back row said under her breath. She was crossing her fingers on both hands and rocking in her folding chair in a way that reminded Celia of Janine during an eating event.

  The minister took a step back. The long tail of Elsa’s dress trailed across the stage as she approached the tube. She stood in front of it, head bowed, shoulders rising and falling as if she’d just run a hundred-yard dash. Finally, she raised her left hand and pressed a large red button set into the tube.

  The balls in the sphere dropped from their chaotic orbits, and bounced around before each dropped into one of the five tubes. Guests sprang from their chairs, shouting, throwing their arms in the air or waving them to one side as if they could coax the balls along. The headshot photos, one of each potential groom, were now clearly visible as the balls rolled down their respective tubes toward the rendezvous point, a wide funnel sitting above the single tube that dropped down to the dais.

  Most of the guests seemed to be rooting for Jaden, whoever he was. Elsa’s hands were raised, her fingers crossed. From the way she was weaving she looked to be standing on one foot as well, but it was impossible to tell under the long gown.

  The balls collided at the funnel, bounced against each other as if battling to be the first down the tube. Finally, one dropped. Even before it landed in front of Elsa, the smiling photo of a young, handsome dark-haired man perfectly centered, Celia knew it wasn’t Jaden. Muted groans and cries had erupted from the seats.

  On the stage, Elsa pinned on a fake smile, blinked away tears from her shell-shocked eyes and strode to meet her dark-haired groom as he climbed onto the stage to scattered, polite applause.

  “Hey, what is this?” someone shouted, interrupting the tender moment.

  Celia looked toward the woman who’d shouted, who was in turn gawking at the table of food. Beaners was standing over it, a hunk of wedding cake in one hand, his cheeks bulging, his face smeared with vanilla frosting. Beaners stopped chewing. He scanned the crowd, his gaze coming to rest on Celia.

  “Crap,” Anand whispered.

  A stocky guy in a charcoal suit approached Beaners. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Beaners looked up at the guy like a pit bull eyeing an exposed throat. “I’m a friend of the groom’s.” He shrugged. “This cake just looked so delicious, I couldn’t wait.”

  Caught off-guard by Beaners’ answer, the stocky guy hesitated. “What’s with the outfit?”

  Beaners kicked him square in the crotch and ran toward Celia and Anand. Cries of surprise and outrage rose as some guests ran to get out of Beaners’ way and others moved to intercept him. Beaners stiff-armed a woman in the solar plexus, lifting her right off her feet. Two guys came at him; one grabbed his arm, the other dove and wrapped his arms around Beaners’ foot. Beaners yanked his foot loose and stuck a finger in the other guy’s eye. Celia couldn’t imagine where he’d learned that move.

  As a dozen guests closed in, Beaners reached Celia and Anand. “Guys, help me out here.”

  A graying man came up behind Beaners and put him in a headlock. Before Beaners could throw him off, several others surrounded him, grabbing for his arms, pulling him down.

  “You wouldn’t have made it this far without me,” Beaners shouted, staring right at Celia.

  A hand locked on Celia’s elbow. “Are you with him?” It was a police officer.

  “Let her go,” Anand said. “We don’t know that guy.”

  “He seems to know you.” The cop was bald and built a bit like Beaners.

  “The guy’s clearly deranged,” Anand shot back. “He’s wearing a clown suit, for God’s sake.”

  “I heard that, you lying bastard,” Beaners shrieked. Half a dozen people held his arms and legs, pinning him to the ground, but Beaners went on struggling, trying to shake them off.

  The cop studied Anand through narrowed eyes. Evidently coming to a decision, he reached for his holstered handgun. “You two are under arrest.”

  In one quick, smooth motion, Anand grabbed the cop’s wrist and kicked his feet out from under him. The cop landed on his back with an audible thud. Anand grabbed the handgun.

  As fresh cries of surprise lit the air, one of the failed grooms lunged at Anand, who chopped him in the throat with the edge of his hand. The groom dropped, clutching his throat.

  Someone grabbed Celia from behind, and unfortunately she knew no fancy fighting moves. She was shoved to the ground on her stomach; her hands yanked back. She felt a sharp pinch as a handcuff caught her skin as it was snapped closed.

  “Don’t move,” a guy shouted in her ear, then left.

  She rolled onto her side, then used her elbow to leverage herself into a sitting position.

  Anand was surrounded by twenty or more people. He was swinging a steel folding chair, his eyes wide and blank, like he was in shock. “Don’t let them touch you,” he shouted. “They’ll burn you right to the bone.”

  A guy with a beard lunged at Anand from behind, but Anand’s reflexes were uncanny—he whacked the guy’s outstretched arm with the chair.

  “Out of the way.” A cop carrying a Taser pushed into the circle. Anand didn’t seem to notice the Taser; it was as if he was seeing a completely different scene. Before Celia could shout a warning, the Taser’s prongs shot out and sank into Anand’s chest. He convulsed violently, and collapsed to the grass.

  “Anand!” Celia watched as
Anand was handcuffed and pulled to his feet by two cops.

  A third police officer, this one a tall black woman, approached Celia. “Let’s go. Ready? One, two...” She pulled Celia to her feet, then raised her voice. “Everyone back up two steps.”

  The crowd parted, forming a line of onlookers as the cop led Celia over to where Beaners and Anand were standing, handcuffed, surrounded by more police officers. Anand had stopped struggling, but his eyes darted around as if he was still seeing things the rest of them couldn’t.

  Celia resisted a strong urge to kick Beaners in the crotch the way he’d kicked that wedding guest. “What were you thinking?” she hissed at him. “Everything was under control.”

  Beaners motioned toward her with his chin. “You got a caraway seed stuck between your teeth there.”

  Celia located the seed with her tongue, then realized the point Beaners was trying to make. Yes, she’d eaten. She’d also been in the process of getting more food to share with Beaners when Beaners had blown it. She had no idea what was going to happen to them now. No doubt the courtrooms here were outfitted with wheels of chance, and punishments ranging from Good Talking To to Death set around the periphery.

  What if they came clean and told these people they were from the outside? Would anyone believe them? If not, Celia could invite them to pull off Beaners’ shoes and try to wash the makeup from his face. That would get their attention.

  “Let’s move.” An officer with a goatee grasped Celia above the elbow.

  “Hold on.” Celia dug in her heels and turned toward the crowd. “This isn’t the only town. There are hundreds of them, all behind walls. We can tell you about them.” She glanced at the goateed police officer still clutching her arm. He looked profoundly confused. She gestured at Beaners with her elbow. “This isn’t a man dressed like a clown—”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” the woman cop said. “I don’t think the guy in the clown suit is the only one with issues. You take your meds today, sweetie?”

  “I can prove it—”

  Murmurs rose from the crowd as a vehicle approached. Pedestrians stepped off the walkway to allow it through. It was the size of the one they’d crashed into the train, but this one was enclosed, and gorgeous: silver with bronze trim, glistening in the sunlight like an enormous jewel.

  “Kelly Swails,” a woman at the front of the crowd said excitedly. “It’s Kelly Swails.”

  The passenger side door opened and a shining red boot swung out. Kelly Swails was tall, thin, blonde, and as gorgeous—and about as subtle—as her vehicle.

  The name was familiar. The guy who ran into the deli had said something about Kelly Swails doing it again.

  Kelly strutted straight up to Celia and her companions, eyeing each of them like a drill sergeant inspecting new recruits who left something to be desired. Then she turned to the officers and held out her hand. “Give me the keys to those cuffs.”

  Without a word, the officers handed her three keys.

  “Load them into my wheels.” Kelly jerked a thumb toward her vehicle. The officers led Celia and her companions to it and stuffed them into the back. Beaners went in last, his pumpkin-sized head ending up in Celia’s lap.

  Kelly Swails took the passenger seat, and a kid who couldn’t have been more than thirteen got behind the wheel. They rode off, leaving the wrecked wedding behind.

  “Thanks for getting us out of there,” Celia ventured.

  No response. Celia glanced at Anand. He was gasping for breath, but some lucidity seemed to be returning to his eyes.

  “Can you let us out of these handcuffs?” Celia asked.

  Silence.

  “Are you the mayor?”

  Kelly let out a harsh cough of laughter.

  “Listen, we know things,” Celia ventured. “We’re not from here, we’re from other towns. There are other towns out there.”

  Kelly pressed her palms against the sides of her blonde head. “Stop, you’re blowing my mind. The junior reporter has a big scoop.” Her tone dripped sarcasm.

  The kid pulled the vehicle to a stop right beside the wall. He and Kelly climbed out.

  “Out,” Kelly barked.

  It took them a while, what with their arms cuffed behind them. Kelly and her driver made no attempt to help. When they were all standing outside the vehicle, Kelly turned and did something at the wall. A door swung inward, revealing a dirt path through weeds on the other side.

  The driver marched them through the door one by one. Celia was last, and as she cleared the wall he gave her a shove. She fell into the weeds, her arms still locked behind her.

  Kelly Swails appeared in the doorway. She flung the keys in their direction. “Don’t come back here. I don’t care where you go, or what you do, but don’t you dare come back here.”

  The door swung closed.

  “Well, that was exciting,” Beaners said, breaking the silence.

  “Shut up, you jerk,” Celia said.

  Anand wobbled to his feet without a word. He walked around until he located the spot where the keys were strewn in the weeds, and sat with his back to one of them. He felt around until he had it, then fumbled it into the lock on his handcuffs. When the cuffs didn’t open, he crab-walked over to another.

  “Where did you learn to fight like that?” Celia asked.

  Anand worked the second key into the lock. “The town I lived in before they put me in the audience.”

  “What? I thought you were always part of the audience.”

  “No one’s born into the audience. We all come from somewhere else. We’re the lucky few who get the call and don’t end up in that hill.” Anand sounded defeated, exhausted, as if merely speaking about it sapped his strength.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  The cuff clicked open. Anand unlocked the second one before answering. “Because I want to forget I was ever in that town.”

  The nightmares. The way he’d gone crazy in there, ranting about things burning him. “Oh.” She could understand why he wouldn’t want to talk about it, if it had been that bad, but she felt like she needed to know everything she could. It was another piece of the puzzle that was this place.

  “It was that bad?” she prodded.

  Anand snatched the other keys off the ground and stood. “There were no catalogs there, all right? Just things. Things you can’t imagine, that you don’t want to hear about, because if I tell you, you won’t be able to get them out of your head.” He poked his temple savagely. “I saw it all, though. I lived it. So don’t look at me with those big eyes like I should be ashamed of myself for not being honest with you.” He turned and pointed at Beaners. “And you. You got crapped on in Circus Town? Tough. Stop using it as an excuse to act like a psychopath.”

  Those half-lidded eyes, brimming with contempt above his red button nose, turned to consider Anand. “Who says I’m acting?”

  Anand squatted behind Celia and unlocked her handcuffs. “Yeah? In that case I think we’ll just leave those cuffs on you.” He stuffed the final set of keys into his pocket, and turned to Celia. “Let’s go.”

  Beaners sprang to his feet. “Hang on, guys. I was just kidding.” There was blood soaking the toe of one of his yellow clown shoes, either from blisters or some injury he’d suffered in the wedding scuffle.

  Celia hesitated. She wanted to be free of this wretched clown, but if they left him in those handcuffs, tied to some tree so he couldn’t follow, it would be no different than bashing his head in with a rock. On the other hand, if they unlocked the cuffs, they were stuck with him. They could leave him in the handcuffs for a while, anyway, to teach him a lesson. After what he’d pulled at that wedding, he deserved it.

  Sort of. They had been stuffing their faces while Beaners was waiting with an empty stomach.

  Celia caught up with Anand. When they started walking, Beaners moved to follow, his hands behind his back. Anand turned to face him.

  “Let’s just let him follow,” Celia said. “What trouble ca
n he cause in handcuffs?”

  Sighing heavily, Anand continued walking. Celia fell into step beside him. She was completely disoriented, but Anand seemed to have some idea which direction they should be heading. Whether they were really getting anywhere was anyone’s guess.

  It was depressing to be back outside, on foot. Their best bet was to get back into that tunnel. In there they could be fairly sure they were headed in the right direction. But there was no obvious entry point back into this town, no body of water outside at all.

  Celia glanced behind them. Beaners was keeping pace. He looked pissed.

  #

  They rested in the shade of a rocky outcropping among rolling hills. As soon as he was sitting, Anand pulled out his sketch pad and began drawing, slashing at the paper with the pencil.

  “How long have you been drawing?” Celia asked.

  “Pretty much since I learned how to hold a pencil. I used to draw all the time in the nursery. In training school the teachers finally gave up and let me draw while I listened to lessons.”

  “And after that?” Celia asked casually, knowing she was treading into off-limits territory. She watched as Anand struggled, clearly angry, deciding whether to answer.

  “In Slaughtertown I mostly used limestone to draw on rocks and cave walls.” He sniffed, jerked his head to one side. They looked like nervous tics. “Once in a while some paper arrived with the weekly supplies. I fought another kid for a notebook that came through once. I got in big trouble for that.” He shook his head, still drawing. “You don’t fight with other people in Slaughtertown. Not ever.”

  Slaughtertown. The name alone made Celia a little sick with fear.

  “What happened to you? For fighting?” Celia whispered the question. Anand looked as if even a loud voice might startle him.

  “There’s only one punishment in Slaughtertown. Shunning. I was on my own for two weeks. I stayed close to my people, but I wasn’t allowed to approach them. At night I could hear them talking. That only made me feel more alone.”

  Anand set his pencil down and looked off at the horizon. “Every week, something new would show up, and it would hunt us.”