by Kirk Dougal
“So,” Tar said, trying to keep the tremble from his voice, “what happened to him?”
“Captain Ludler tested him, then purified him and the old woman.” Martinez started to leave the room. “I’ll see you soon, fixer.”
“It was you,” Tar blurted out.
Martinez turned, the door still open, and looked back. “Me what?”
Tar wanted to keep quiet, to melt back into the shadows and hope everyone just forgot about him. But there was one small voice inside that was furious. The Black Shirts killed fixers. They killed innocent people. They were fragging monsters.
“You were the one who called the Black Shirts on Jordie.”
Martinez grinned, turned, and walked through the door. Just before it shut his voice drifted back into the room.
“See you soon.”
#
Tar flinched beneath the sun’s glare. Martinez grabbed his arm and pushed him forward into a stumbling walk up a stairway. He emerged onto a stage and a rumble of voices made Tar raise his head, forcing him to look out over more people than he had ever seen in his life. He stood on a platform at one end of a rectangular strip of grass, surrounded by banks of seats in an oval above him. Jammed in tight—elbow to elbow and knee to knee—thousands of men and women stared back at him, their murmurs echoing over the platform and washing down on Tar.
Movement caught his eye from the other end of the stage and he turned to see Dr. Pierinski and Jimmy tossed down in heaps. It looked like Roger had taken another beating, blood trailed down his chin and the front of his shirt and Jimmy shook his hair back to reveal a black eye. Ludler stood over them, the smile on his face leaving no doubt who had delivered the punishment.
Tar stiffened, sensing movement from behind. It was not a blow, however. Father Eli walked past, close enough to make him flinch but not making contact.
The man walked to the front of the stage, his immaculate white shirt and pants almost glowing in the gloom of the cloud-ridden day. He grabbed a piece of tech, nothing more than a small cylinder on a stand, and began speaking into it:
“Thirteen years ago…” His voice echoed out over the crowd, the tech amplifying his voice and silencing the whispers. It was convenient how the Faithful used tech when it suited them. “…judgment was handed down upon mankind because arrogant souls believed they could play God and improve upon His creation. They believed they could make, through their own hands, something greater than what God provides us through nature, given to us through flesh and blood.
“On the day of The Crash, the day of our salvation, we rid ourselves of what they were forcing us to become. On that divine day we began living for ourselves again. On that divine day the Mind fell and mankind was reborn!”
Father Eli paused for a scattering of applause. He did not react to the small response but Tar saw Ludler’s face cloud over in anger, rivaling the gray sky with his own dark look, angry at the less-than-spirited reaction from the crowd.
“Now we have captured one of them, one of the defilers who sought to remove us from our humanity!” continued Father Eli. He pointed at Dr. Pierinski with the cylindrical device in his hand. “Here is one who thought himself greater than God. Someone who sought to degrade mankind with foul technology and profane machinery. I give to you Dr. Roger Pierinski, one of the makers of the Mind!”
Ludler half-threw, half-pushed Roger forward. Too weak to brace himself the doctor staggered forward onto the stage and fell near Father Eli’s feet. Whispers started up again in the crowd.
“But that isn’t all.” Father Eli turned to the people. “We have also captured one of their abominations, one of their creations, a boy who is so much a machine he can repair tech with merely a touch. I show you Taro Hutchins! A fixer!”
Tar barely registered the gasps of awe, the smattering of hate-filled shouts, or the few hundred who dared applaud. He struggled to keep his feet as Martinez pushed him forward, then grabbed the rope tying Tar’s hands behind his back and jerked him into position by Father Eli.
“We can not move forward with our lives until these people are hunted down and made to pay for their sins against the rest of mankind! We can not hope to find our way until these people are removed from the road ahead of us! The Faithful must pave the way by purifying those who would lead us astray! Abominations like this boy,” Father Eli gestured at Tar, his hand almost making contact with his cheek, “can serve as a reminder to the unwary.”
Father Eli took a deep breath, then scowled. “We do not tolerate the heretics who destroyed our world. We do not lend a hand to those who harbor the abominations. Captain, begin the purification!”
Ludler stepped forward and grabbed Dr. Pierinski. He dragged him to the front of the stage, tossed him to the grass below, and then jumped down himself. The crowd stepped back almost in unison, seeking more distance between them and the intimidating Black Shirt captain.
“No,” Tar muttered, not believing what was happening.
Father Eli heard him. “Oh, yes,” he said. Then he nodded to another Black Shirt, who bent and grabbed Jimmy.
“No!” Tar said again, louder, as the man dropped Jimmy over the edge, as well. “He’s just a kid!”
Father Eli snorted and responded by uttering verse: “Show no mercy; have no pity. Kill them all, old and young, girls and women and little children…begin your task at the Temple.”
Tar blinked as the madman spoke. Tears welled in his eyes. He gazed at the two metal tubs filled with water in front of the platform. He watched Ludler fasten soot-coated bands of metal to Dr. Pierinski’s wrists. When it was Jimmy’s turn he couldn’t stomach it anymore. He looked away and stared at the faded letters spelling “Skybox” on the upper reaches of the stadium.
“It will all be over in a few more minutes,” Father Eli said so only Tar could hear. “Then you will tell them about the Mind. Afterward, Captain Ludler wishes a word with you. I believe he wishes to discuss the remaining fixers.”
Tar had never seen a purification ceremony but everyone knew what happened. He thought of One Shoe, probably out there looking for his little brother right now. He thought of his best book, Toby, and wondered if he was okay, if he was out there looking for him…if he was even alive. Then he thought of Nataly and a sob escaped him. Her father was about to die, horribly, and with him would die any hope Tar still held of saving the zoms.
Tears rolled down his cheeks as he turned to watch his friends. Dr. Pierinski was already in a tub of water, hunched on his knees and leaning up against the side for support. Jimmy was kicking and swearing as two Black Shirts lifted him off the ground and flung him into the other tub. Black cords attached to the metal bands snaked off to the side of the arena and back into a concrete walkway.
“With your help,” Father Eli’s voice echoed out over the crowd again, “we will punish all those who see us as machines!”
Tar looked at the crowd, not wanting to watch the death of his friends. The faces were blurry through his tears but he found himself staring at a red-haired man directly in front of him. Unbelievable, shocking, red hair.
“Captain Ludler, purify them!”
Tar shook his head and blinked, clearing his vision enough to make out a scarred cheek beneath the man’s red hair.
Turbo.
Tar turned his head left just as Ludler signaled for the purification to begin.
Tar was about to scream in despair when the captain roared, his face contorting in rage.
Jimmy still thrashed in his tub but Tar realized it was not in pain, but in anger as the boy unleashed a steady flow of cuss words. Dr. Pierinski was still alive as well, lifting his head and staring up at the crowd.
Tar swiveled his gaze back at Turbo and saw him smiling. Then Tar noticed Oso beside him. They moved apart and there was Toby, staring back at him. Toby!
Screams rose up from everywhere as One Shoe and a half dozen Moenes rushed a group of Black Shirts, swinging clubs and pipes. Scattered g
unfire broke out and people either dropped to the ground in terror or ran blindly toward the sides of the arena.
Tar’s world was suddenly turned upside down. Something sent him rolling across the stage and he ended on his back with his feet hanging in the air above the ground. For a blink he thought he saw Martinez leaning over him, shouting at him in the din, but the words were washed away. A moment later the lieutenant was gone and a wave of people washed over him, sweeping him away and leaving Tar staring up at the gray sky.
“Tar! Tar, can you hear me?” Toby hove into view, his face a few inches away. “You hurt?”
Still too stunned to speak, Tar just shook his head.
“Roll over,” Toby said.
Tar moved and his friend grabbed one of his wrists, using his trusty knife to cut through the ropes.
“We gotta move, hermano,” said the huge Moene, Oso, who was kneeling on one knee beside them. “We got what we came for and it’s startin’ to go ugly.”
Tar sat up and looked out over the grassy area. Most of the crowd was still in a panic, trampling the weak and injured to get out. Pockets of fighting were scattered across the area with Moenes and other gang members still battling Black Shirts. Here and there some of the crowd had joined the fighting and it looked to Tar as if the majority were taking Father Eli’s side.
He saw one of the purification tubs was upended, the water in puddles around it. The other was still upright but there was no sign of Dr. Pierinski or Jimmy.
“Where are they?’ he asked, gesturing toward the purification area.
“On their way out,” Oso said, hauling Tar to his feet. “Just like us. Let’s go.”
They ran toward the tunnel Martinez had pushed Tar through just minutes earlier. It was the way to freedom, their path away from the Black Shirts. Oso leaped down the steps first, but then Tar spotted Father Eli, his white clothes standing out against the faded red bleachers in the lowest seating level above the tunnel. He stood alone, the entire section guarded by Black Shirts.
Not quite alone. About twenty rows below Father Eli, one foot resting on the back of the row in front of him, was Ludler. He glared out over the fighting, hatred written in every tense muscle of his body. Slowly the man turned until he was staring back at Tar.
The captain’s gaze felt like a fist of ice punching into his stomach, freezing his blood and threatening to do the same to the muscles in his legs. Tar was so scared it hurt to breath and he realized Ludler would never stop until he and every other fixer was dead.
And with that knowledge came heat. Tar breathed again. The blood flowed through his body. His legs stopped quivering. The heat was his anger and it warmed him, melting his fear.
He thought of Uncle Jahn, dead in an abandoned store. He thought of Mr. Keisler and Mr. Lionel and the risks they took to help him. He thought of Toby’s father, wondering if he was still alive. He thought of the fire at the Winchester House and of Marybelle. He thought of his mother. He thought of the millions of zoms and the many millions more who had died.
He thought of Nataly Pierinski, her blonde hair hooked behind her ear, and he knew as long as there were men like Father Eli and Ludler she would always be in danger.
Those thoughts fed Tar’s anger.
He turned and walked back to the front of the stage. Toby ran up beside him and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him to a stop but failing. Tar knew his friend was shouting in his ear but he ignored it, jerking his arm away.
Tar reached down and grabbed the tech Father Eli had used earlier, the voice amplifier. “Listen!” he croaked, then cleared his voice. “Listen to me!” Tar’s voice rose above the crowd, echoing over the top. “Stop!” he shouted, and this time his voice was followed by a high-pitched squeal from the speakers around the stadium. Slowly the fighting stopped and the noise died down. The crowd stilled.
“Yes, I am a fixer,” Tar said. “My mother worked on the Mind along with Dr. Pierinski. But…my mom and the doctor, they were not the ones who murdered everyone.” He turned and pointed at the Father Eli in the stands. “It was him. He also worked on tech, he told me himself. He was a programmer.”
“Stop him!” Father Eli pointed back, spittle flying from his lips.
“He was the one who caused The Crash,” Tar kept going, raising his voice to drown the man out. “Father Eli is the murderer! He used tech, a computer virus…” Tar hesitated a second. “It was his virus that caused the downfall of technology and all of the people to become zoms. He did it so he could take control, to make each one of you live the way he wanted you to live.”
Tar looked over the crowd. “I came here to try to fix the Mind. I came here because I thought maybe I could make the zoms better. Wake them up again, to be who they once were. That’s why Father Eli and his Black Shirts have been killing fixers. Because he knows! He knows we bring the apps back to life. He knows we can fix what is broken!”
A rumble went up from the crowd, rising and falling but never quite dying out.
“You lie!” Father Eli screamed.
“They’re the ones who must go!” Tar yelled. “They must go so we can live! Help me! Help me and other fixers like me, to bring back life. To bring back the world!”
Tar was never able to pinpoint exactly what happened next. The movement and noise created mass confusion. People and gang members surged toward the Black Shirts guarding Father Eli. Someone hurled a club or a pipe and it struck the man, pushing him back into a seat. A few overwhelmed Black Shirts tried to run, one group making to the tunnel where Oso and Toby had been leading him earlier.
Later, it was the colors he remembered the most. The crowd washed over the stands in blues and greens and browns, climbing up the incline like a wave and finally breaking high on the beach. They receded, leaving behind only red. Not bright orange-red like Turbo’s hair, but the dark crimson of blood. It soaked Father Eli’s white clothing.
Tar didn’t know how to feel about it. He thought he’d be happy but he wasn’t. He looked up at Father Eli, dead and broken, just a stain of a man against the stadium’s faded red seats.
Chapter 37
One Shoe led a group of Moenes across the stage toward Tar. Blood trailed down the gang leader’s arm, staining his sleeve, but a grin split his face. “You and my brother, always in trouble,” he said and grabbed Tar in a bear hug. “Gracias for trying to bust him out. Chilly, man.”
“We take care of our own,” Tar said, once he caught his breath. “He’d have done the same for me.” He looked around. “So where is Jimmy?”
“Soon as the fighting started we hustled Pup and Pierinski out. We figured it was best to make ‘em 404 quick-like, you know.” One Shoe looked past Tar. “Oso was supposed to get you out of here, too. What happened?”
“He wouldn’t leave,” Oso said, coming up from behind them. “I thought our boy had gone loco when he ran back toward the fight.” The big Moene was holding one arm across his chest and actually leaning on Toby a little for support.
“You did the right thing, Tar,” Toby said with a smile. “I don’t know how far we’d have got if the Black Shirts were still in control.”
“We don’t have to worry about that now,” came another voice. Everyone turned as Turbo climbed up the front of the stage. Several other men followed him, some bleeding and hurt, all wearing different gang colors. His red hair still stood out, however.
“Your talk turned it, little man,” Turbo said, slapping his hand down on Tar’s shoulder. “As soon as some of the people started helping it evened the odds and made it a fair fight.”
Toby nudged Tar and tilted his head toward Father Eli’s bloody body still sprawled over the seats. “We won’t have to worry about him anymore.”
“No, we won’t,” said Turbo. “And we put a real good hurt on the Black Shirts in this region, too.” He looked at the other gang leaders. “I think the truce should stand long enough to track the ones that got away.” Most of them nodded in agreement.
“I saw Ludler and his group make it into the tunnel and run off,” said Tar and he met eyes with Toby, his stomach churning at the thought of the sadistic captain still on the loose. “We need to look for Lieutenant Martinez, too. He told me about another fixer they killed. A guy named Jordan.”
“I remember his name from the list,” said Toby. “We’ll look for Martinez in the bodies.” He turned to Oso. “But not you. Man, your butt’s too big for me to haul around. Pockets and Sid can go with me.”
“I still don’t know how you guys made it here in time,” Tar said. “I thought we were all going hard boot.”
“Thank her,” said Turbo. He gestured to the far side of the stage.
Tar turned and Nataly threw herself into his arms. She kissed him—hard. He knew the funny feeling jumping through his body now was not from their implants touching.
“Oh, hey, all right.” One Shoe laughed and Tar tried hard not to feel embarrassed by the shared smiles. “Your boy, Toby, did the smart thing. He recharged the car’s batteries and motored back to The Galley and told us what was going down. We went by the doctor’s house and your girlfriend here, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He smiled. “Said she was gonna come for you and her pop no matter what and that we were cowards if we didn’t help. So we put out the word to Turbo and hauled ass to get here.”
“Is she right?” Turbo cut in. “Can you turn the air back on? Make the Mind talk again?”
Tar let go of Nataly but their fingers still intertwined, not enough so their implants made contact but it still felt really good. Tar shook his head at Turbo. “I can’t. What I said on the stage was true. Father Eli caused The Crash and killed everyone but the Mind is gone. It was destroyed in a fire. I can’t fix it now.”
Everyone’s shoulders slumped except for Nataly’s, who was still wearing a smile. “You may not need the Mind,” she said.