Wastes of Space

by Darcy Town

  Ravil moved to his back, she squeezed him. She pressed her nose to the back of his head. He smelled the same. This wasn’t a trick. She pinched her arm; she was still awake.

  Ravil had no idea what to make of this development, it had to mean something, but she’d never heard of this before. Only people inside specially developed ships could travel with Navigators and live. There’d been experiments without ships, all failures, the remainders nothing more than messes of meat and bone, but Rake was definitely solid, living, and breathing. She pinched him, and then pinched herself.

  Rake ignored her weird twitches. He dropped into a squat, and eyed the walls of the building. The windows mostly broken, balconies decayed, many rusted away entirely. He looked at the empty alley below. All of the buildings and alleys in sight were vacant. He lost his casual air. “Shit. We are in the Dead.”

  Ravil grinned. “We’re not dead. You’re not dead, Rake.”

  “Dead, the area, we’re in the Dead.” Rake looked up at her. “Just shut up since you don’t know anything.”

  Ravil frowned, her good mood vanished. She remembered she didn’t like him at all. She glared at the back of his head, wishing she could punch him, but she kept her mouth shut, sensing his unease.

  Rake scanned the other buildings around them, nothing moved. He kept low to the roof, thankful the moon was not out. He spoke quietly, “No more screaming, no more outbursts or I gag you.”

  Ravil whispered in his ear, “Why don’t you just leave me?”

  Rake moved slowly. “I do not want to be a party, in any way, to cannibalism.”

  Ravil’s arms went limp. “Cannibalism? What do you mean?”

  Rake kicked his feet over the side of the building and held on to the edge with both hands. Ravil wrapped her arms around him like a vise. He leapt silently to the most stable looking balcony, dropping into a crouch as he reached it. Rust flaked off and spiraled down to the concrete.

  Rake shrugged her off and patted her hand. “Cover your white girl hair please.”

  Ravil pulled her hoodie up. “What did you mean earlier?”

  He put a finger to his lips. She snapped hers shut. Rake pulled out a gun and his switchblade.

  Ravil looked at the tiny blade and lifted her shirt, showing her knives off.

  Rake did a double take and pulled one of the Bowie knives free. He handed her his switchblade and pulled her shirt down. He put his hand on her head and pushed her into the metal until she lay flat on her stomach. He nudged her with his foot until she moved up against the building.

  He peered around, still no movement. Rake peeked in one of the broken windows, the room pitch black inside. He grimaced and knelt until his mouth was at her ear. “You stay here now. If I die, wait until the sun comes up and then you run as fast as your little chicken legs will carry you.”

  He made sure she nodded before he moved. He clicked the safety of his gun off and stepped through the broken window. Rake slipped up against a sheetrock wall and waited for his eyes to adjust. Shapes became visible, walls, abandoned furniture, and graffiti. He smelled nothing but dust and the carcasses of small animals. No human sewage, rotting food, or corpses in the rooms nearby. He heard nothing but rats. The building, or at least this floor, was unoccupied.

  Rake held his knife and gun and crept across the apartment, tapping his feet against the floor, checking if it was sound to walk on. He cocked his head, listening for anyone approaching. He swept the apartment slowly. This one still had door intact and locks in place, he turned them all quietly.

  Rake padded back to the window and poked his head out. Ravil slashed towards his face with the switchblade. He smiled, grabbed her wrists, and hauled her to her feet. She kept quiet and watched him. He tapped the rest of the broken glass out and carried her over the windowsill. He cupped a hand over her mouth and carried her to the only room without a window, the bathroom.

  Rake held her by her wrists and dropped to the floor. He took a deep breath and swept his hand through the tub, empty save for plaster. He set her in it and turned towards the doorway, a small block of light shone in from across the hall, giving him visibility out, but not allowing anyone easy sight in. He sat with his back against the tub and stared at the rectangle of less darkness. He felt her breath on his neck. He turned his head. “What?”

  Ravil held onto the chipping porcelain. “Why am I in the tub? Why are we in this room and not in the light? I want to stay by the window.”

  Rake pointed his knife towards the door. “No one creeps up on us, and if the floor gives way, at least you’ll be in something. That and the support is stronger under the tub.”

  Ravil stared at his profile becoming visible as her eyes adjusted. “Why aren’t you in it too then?”

  Rake dug his hand into his pocket and fingered the paper fortune. “Don’t test your luck in bathrooms.” He looked at her. “Always trust fortune cookies, Ravil.”

  Ravil was in far over her head. “What?”

  “Nothing, go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “You are going to kill me while I sleep?”

  “No.” Rake rubbed his temples. “I’m not.”

  Ravil punched his shoulder. “Why not?”

  He glared. “Do you want me to?”

  “No.” Ravil shook her head. She leaned on the tub right behind him and stared at his head. She tried to puzzle through it. What had happened during the jump, and how he still lived, but she had no one to ask and she couldn’t tell him. Instead, she poked him. Rake sighed, loud and long. She gulped. “Just checking.”

  “For what? Fucking ticks? I told you to eat earlier.”

  Ravil gagged. “Eww. No, that you’re not goo.”

  He ignored the statement and stabbed the floor with the knife. “Why the fuck are you in Bangkok, little girl?”

  “Running.”

  “Everyone is fucking running, Ravil.” Rake cut at tiles. “But why come here so unprepared? You do know you are a goddamn prize trophy in these parts right? You’re a pedophile’s wet dream. Why not walk around naked and name your price. What was that fucking old man thinking taking you out into a gambling house with whores? You’re a little blonde something and you’re not from England, that’s a lie. So either he was trying to sell you or—”

  Ravil slapped the back of his head. “Calpsan would never do that! He was protecting me!”

  “Keep it down.” Rake hissed. “How was he protecting you by taking you to a whore house? What are you, fucking eight-years-old?”

  Ravil frowned; she didn’t know how old she was. She remembered a movie she had seen on the flight to Bangkok, the character’s age popped into her head. “I am fourteen.”

  “Close enough. Like I said, selling you.” He caught her hand before she hit him again. “Or, he was desperate and looking for something. He had to be real desperate to come here.”

  Ravil pulled her hand from him and scooted away to the other end of the tub. She rubbed her wrists and held her knife out in front of her. “How much would I be worth?”

  “A lot, are you a virgin? That at least doubles the price.”

  Ravil swallowed and blushed. “I’m not telling you that.”

  “Buyers will check for those kinds of things. If you are though, make sure they know it. It will keep you alive longer, because someone will pay top dollar for you, most likely to give as a present or save for a special occasion. Once you lose it, consider your life gone.”

  She remembered Calpsan’s words. She burst into tears. “Are you planning on selling me for a profit, is that why you saved me?”

  He gaped. “No!”

  “Then, why are you saying this?”

  “Because you need to know. No one is your friend here and if your old man was looking to find you a friend, he chose the wrong place to go at the worst possible time. Now he’s dead and he’s left you alone in this shithole.”

  Ravil pulled her knees into her chest. “Are you sure you’re not going to sell
me?”

  Rake stabbed the floor. “I don’t need money that badly.”

  “Are you going to protect me?”

  “No.” He looked towards the doorway. “I’ll get you out of the Dead because I got us into it and that’s my fucking fault. No one deserves to be left here, no one, but then we split.”

  Ravil shook. “Please, Rake.”

  “Don’t beg.” He glanced at her in the dark. “I do not care. You have no money, besides your knives, which I will give back once we reach the border. I do not steal from little girls.” He stabbed the floor. “Go to sleep.”

  She curled up in the bottom of the bathtub. “I don’t want to die.”

  “No one does.”

  “Can’t you help? I—”

  “No.” He closed his eyes. “No, whatever it is, no. I do not care for children, I am not a pimp for whores, I go alone for a reason.” His voice grew quieter, “I do things and go to places that are not for kids, Ravil.”

  “But, I’m not a kid.”

  “Besides bad things always happen to those that spend time with me.”

  Panic made her heart race. Without Calpsan, the enormity of how alone she was began to sink in. “I’ll be helpful, I can do—”

  “Go to bed, Ravil. If you don’t I will put you in a headlock until you pass out.”

  Ravil hugged her sides, closed her eyes, and cried silently for Calpsan and Sirana. In the silence and dark, their deaths became real. She shook in grief and fear. She wanted someone to hold her.

  Rake stared into the darkness and listened to her cry. He steeled himself against the sound of her sobs, knowing it probably wouldn’t be the last time he had to hear them. He cracked his knuckles and waited in the darkness.

  ***

  Marx, Kennedy, and Lincoln reached the gambling house in the early hours of the morning. The area was deserted for blocks, the buildings nearby destroyed or abandoned. Parts of the bar smoldered, giving the air the scent of smoke and cooked flesh.

  The trio bounded up the steps and glided to the door, silent and alert for an ambush, but nothing moved. Debris blocked the doorway; burnt beams had fallen across the entrance. Kennedy dropped to all fours and squeezed under broken timbers. He followed his nose, searching for blood and bodies. Marx and Lincoln shouldered wreckage out of the way and shoved their way into the room.

  Marx checked each door and window; he ducked to avoid hitting hanging fans and lamps. He pulled off his gloves. Curved hollow claws slid out of his fingertips. He ran a long finger the length of a windowsill. He bent over and picked up an empty gas canister, removing his sunglasses to read the label. “There was teargas and more bodies. The corpses have been removed.”

  “Not all.” Lincoln sniffed along the ground and found Calpsan’s body underneath a table. He cocked his head, his pupils shrank to slits. Lincoln licked his razor-sharp fangs. “Dead for a few hours. The Navigator has fled, Marx.”

  Marx showed no emotion. “She may have been killed or taken.”

  “Perhaps.” Lincoln rifled through Calpsan’s clothing, but found nothing of use. “Kennedy, find us some individuals to question.”

  Marx smiled. “He is an individual tracker?”

  Lincoln inclined his head. “Yes. Kennedy?”

  “I coming!” Kennedy slid out from beneath the bar. He shook his body, throwing dust from his hair and suit jacket. He examined the blood spots on the floor. He licked one. “Waster.” He moved to another and licked. “Waster.”

  “We know they’re all Wasters. That provides us no more information.” Marx walked into the kitchen, folding his body to fit into the small space. His sensitive ears twitched. His arm shot out, pinning a rat to the wall. He brought the crushed corpse to his nose, eyeing it before tossing it to the side.

  “He is young, Marx.” Lincoln eyed his partner. “Kennedy, we need to know if any are alive.”

  Kennedy licked dirt from the bridge of his nose and concentrated. The samples of blood taken from people that still lived called to him, making his body tingle in the direction they were from his position. He nodded. “Several are alive! I find them much easy!”

  Marx walked out into the main room. “Good.”

  Lincoln stood and flexed, his muscles strained the seams of his jacket. He tilted his head up to look Marx in the eye. “Someone may have her or know where she went. Kennedy, how many individual samples do you have to check?”

  Kennedy sucked on the end of his braid. “Seven that live, the rest dead.”

  Lincoln nodded. “Come.”

  ***

  A howl from outside the building woke Ravil up. Her eyes shot open as goose bumps raced across her skin. She reached for Rake, but her hands slipped through air. Another howl came louder than the last, followed by a faint scream. She stared at her empty outstretched hand as the realization set in—he’d abandoned her.

  Ravil slipped out of the tub, kept low to the floor, and held her knife out in front of her. She reached the hall and crawled towards the windows. Weak sunlight filtered into the apartment through the grimy glass. Every fiber of her being told her to go back and hide in the darkness of the bathroom, but she would not wait for death to come to her. Rake had left her; he’d lied last night. She held back tears and moved another few inches. She was on her own now and she would handle it.

  The hall creaked. Ravil froze.

  Rake kneeled by her side and whispered into her ear, “Not a sound now, Bebette.” He held one of her Bowie knives and crawled past her, keeping his head below the level of the windows. He crept towards the closest and used a piece of mirror to look outside. His shift in expression made Ravil scoot back into the bathroom. She climbed into the tub and covered her ears.

  The howls and screams continued until they cut off in a definitive silence. Rake came in some minutes later, his face ashen. He sat down and looked over at her. “We cannot walk out on the streets.”

  “Wh…why?”

  “We just can’t.” Rake’s hands shook. He grabbed his left hand with his right and pressed it into the floor; he broke into a sweat. He took a deep breath. “It’s not safe.”

  “Can’t we run?”

  He shook his head. “Do you want to end up a screamer?”

  Ravil sank down below the level of the porcelain. “What is out there?”

  “The low, the hungry, and the desperate.” Rake looked nauseous. “You don’t go to the Dead, never, even if you will get killed otherwise. Everyone knows that.”

  She looked towards the doorway. “How did those others get out there then, the ones screaming?”

  He closed his eyes. “Sometimes the sick and drunk end up here by accident, stumbling in the night. Others get here through punishment, piss off the wrong person and you’re dropped in the Dead, left bound, sometimes not, sometimes they have a chance to run.” Rake looked ready to throw up.

  She stared at her hands. She touched the air with her fingers, caressed it. She searched for the feeling she had the night previous, tried to recall it, but it was like pulling on smoke. She frowned and stared at her hands. Why was she trying to run, what was the point in trying to escape quickly? Rake stayed with her now out of a misplaced sense of guilt. The quicker they got out of here, the sooner he would leave her. Then she would be alone and most likely she would be just as dead. Ravil shoved her hands into her lap. “What do we do?”

  Rake sighed. “Something stupid and dangerous.” He bumped his head against the countertop. “Shit.”

  Ravil watched him twitch. “You’re ill.”

  “I am not fucking ill.” He rubbed his palms together. “Get up, we’re heading downstairs.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I say so.” Rake hauled her out of the bathtub. He looked her over and set her on the counter. He pulled out his knife. Ravil scooted away. Rake pinned her leg in place. Her grabbed her pants and sliced off the material below the knee. He did the same for the other leg. He stepped back at stared at his handiwork. “There, no more tripping.
”

  She didn’t answer. Rake looked up and noticed her trembling. “What is wrong with you now?”

  “I thought you were going to hurt me.”

  He backed up. “I am not that way. Not with kids, not with girls.”

  “I—”

  “Come on.” He stepped out of the bathroom and listened. He pulled a gun from his belt and handed it to her. “I know you can use this, you don’t need to tell me why.”

  Ravil checked how many shots she had. “It’s because—”

  “Ravil, I don’t want to know, that’s what I mean by you don’t need to tell me, okay?” He searched her eyes. “Keep your story to yourself. I’ll keep mine to myself and we’ll both be quiet. Okay?”

  She dropped her eyes. “Okay.”

  He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Shoot at anything you see that looks human understand? No waiting, no questioning, you shoot it.”

  She nodded.

  He undid the first lock. “You stay on me like a shadow.” He undid the second lock. “But if I go down, leave me and run.”

  “What if I go down?”

  Rake undid the third lock and pried the door open. He stared into the darkened hall. “You won’t unless I do. Now, no more words.” He slid out of the room and took her hand, pulling her with him. The carpet had peeled away from the floor, exposing concrete. Many of the doors were missing, the apartments ransacked, but empty. Nothing moved.

  He let her hand go so that he had both of his free. Ravil hooked her fingers around his leather belt. He glanced down at her hand, then at her, but she did not look at him. She shook so hard she waved her gun.

  Rake let her keep her hand on him as he walked them towards an empty elevator shaft. He looked into the darkness. He put his knife in his mouth, pushed her hand away, and jumped in.

  Ravil squeaked.

  Rake held onto the rungs along the side of the shaft. He motioned for her. She grabbed his outstretched arm and stepped into the darkness. He brought her to the ladder, putting her body between his and the metal. They climbed down together.

  The descending floors each had a number painted on the concrete, barely visible in the low light. They reached the first floor, but kept moving. Rake pointed down.