by Isamu Fukui
“Welcome. Now hand it over.”
“Wh-what?”
“I don’t think he heard ya right, Raphael,” the second thug had observed. “He ain’t givin us the pack.”
“Maybe this’ll teach him to listen!”
And with that, the vagrant named Raphael had punched Umasi hard in the chest, flinging him against the wall of a building. His glasses had been cast from his face by the impact, and the other vagrant quickly trampled them underfoot. Seeing that, and having been tossed around like a rag doll, Umasi had snapped. Before he knew what he was doing, Umasi had struck back for the first time in his life, kicking viciously at his assailant. Caught up in his sudden madness, Umasi had forgotten everything he learned in his self-defense classes, attacking fiercely, but crudely.
Maybe that was why they had beaten him so hard.
The first vagrant had taken the blow well, staggering back a few paces as his partner lunged for Umasi. Umasi had slid his backpack off in order to move better, and then threw a punch at the second thug, who backed up just in time to avoid it. Then the first ruffian reentered the fray, seizing Umasi by both shoulders and slamming him against the brick wall. His partner then joined in, using Umasi as a punching bag, and the rest was history.
There had been two of them, sure, but it didn’t stop Umasi from feeling pathetic about how easily he’d been beaten.
In an attempt to suppress tears of rage, Umasi focused on his injuries. Damn, did it hurt everywhere. He’d been bruised all over, and he thought that he was bleeding but wasn’t exactly sure where. He didn’t think that anything had been broken, but he felt so incredibly tired, a weariness that ran deeper than just his muscles. He would rest for a while, here. Not die, Umasi reminded himself, just rest. And maybe later he’d get up, leave the accursed district, and then . . . what? Return home, lesson learned?
Home, where he’d exchange his freedom for comforts and safety? Home, where everything would be so easy, and yet so hard, all over again?
Both of Umasi’s eyes snapped open.
No.
He had no home.
He had run away once already, and he wouldn’t run back again.
Umasi allowed himself a painful smile with cracked lips. Even as he lay there, curled up and shivering on the dirty ground, he now felt an insane sort of pride. He wasn’t going to give up. If he survived, then there would be no more running for him. He would face his problems, and find his brother or die trying.
12
A CHORUS OF SCREAMS
Glad that you could join us, Gabriel! Everyone else has already arrived, and some of them were beginning to voice concern.”
“Sorry, Zen, I had to dodge a few Enforcer patrols on the way here.”
“Yes, I’ve received a lot of complaints about those. Did any of them spot you?”
“I don’t think so, but this whole district’s been crawling with them from what I’ve seen. Think they’re on to us already?”
“Doubtful. They’re probably just searching for me—I did kill one of them yesterday, after all.”
“What? Already?”
“Indeed. Come on in, the others have already been briefed in your absence.”
“Lot of people in there I’ve not met yet?”
“Some of them I’ve only met today for the first time myself, actually.”
“And you trust all of them?”
“None of them got caught by those loud and obnoxious Enforcer patrols, so they pass the test of minimum capability. Only time will tell how reliable they’ll be. From their academic profiles, and the occasional interview I conducted over the phone, I’ve decided that these would make the most promising inaugural Truants. Certainly, few of them have much to lose.”
“Well, Zen, I trust your judgment.”
“I do appreciate that. By the way, I must ask you not to refer me as ‘Zen’ anymore. I think it prudent that my real name not be associated with the Truancy in any way.”
“All right, I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I, Gabriel. After all, if it turns out that I don’t, then we’re all dead. Every last one of us.”
“Now, there’s a cheerful thought.”
Zen laughed mirthlessly as he led Gabriel farther into the building where he’d been hiding since the previous day. It was a nondescript brown-stone on a street of nearly identical-looking houses, and save for the Truancy symbol concealed inside the doorway, nothing made it stand out among the others. By all appearances, it defined “inconspicuous,” and was therefore a perfect place to hide from the Enforcer patrols.
As they entered a small, dimly lit chamber, Gabriel found himself facing a room full of unfamiliar faces. Zen wasted no time in introducing Gabriel to the other newcomers. The first that had arrived was a brown-skinned boy named Amal, who looked friendly and intelligent. The second was a dark-haired and brooding boy named Aaron, who barely spoke a word during the introductions. In third place was a skinny kid named Max, who was looking around a little dazedly, as if unable to believe what he was doing. In dead last was Ken, a fatigued boy who had had some difficulty arriving undetected.
“Would you like some hot chocolate, Gabriel?” Zen offered as Gabriel shook hands with the others. “We’ve made some to ward off the cold—this building has running water, but no heating or electricity, I’m afraid.”
“No, thanks,” Gabriel said. “I had a narrow escape with one of the patrols and my stomach is still unknotting.”
“Well, you’re certainly not alone.” Zen gestured at the other Truants. “Aaron and Max declined refreshment as well.”
The two Truants he named both nodded briefly at Gabriel, but said nothing. There was a lot of palpable tension in that room, and a lot of nervousness.
“Well, my friends, you must be wondering how exactly things will work around here,” Zen observed. “I won’t keep you in suspense. As all of you know by now, we are going to fight the Educators. I believe that we have always known in our hearts that they were our enemies, that this conflict was inevitable—but in their ignorance they have never regarded us as anything more than scum, let alone a threat.”
Gabriel nodded at that, as did all the other Truants. They all knew personally how deep the Educators’ contempt for them ran. None of them had any love left for the Educators, especially in light of what Zen had revealed to them.
“I won’t make any illusion about what this struggle will entail,” Zen said. “You will have to kill. You may very well die. All of you understood this before you came, and yet you came anyway. The only promise that I can make you now is that no sacrifice that I ask of you will ever be without purpose.”
Gabriel believed that. No matter what people might have said about Zen, no one ever accused him of being wasteful.
“You may think that you will be able to handle it now,” Zen continued, “but it is possible that you may later want to change your mind. This will not be allowed. Once you are a Truant, you can never return to being a student again. Attempting to do so would endanger yourself and all of us. If you run, the Enforcers will undoubtedly try to capture and interrogate you . . . provided that we don’t get to you first.”
Gabriel smiled grimly at that. Even within the confines of school, dark rumors about the Enforcers and what they did to the vagrants managed to spread. Even if they were exaggerated, Gabriel had no doubts about the Enforcers’ brutality.
“We may be old by the time this struggle is over,” Zen warned, “so it is important that we never lose sight of what we’re fighting for—a City where we would have been equals. I myself left school only a few days ago, and yet already the memories of it are fading. But we cannot forget the true nature of school, for when that happens the Educators will have truly succeeded in their goal—turning us into them.
“We’ve not known each other for a long time, but we all share a common enemy, and a common goal,” Zen said. “That’s enough to make us comrades. No matter the outcome, from this day forward we will pursue that
goal and fight that enemy together. From this day forward, we are that which the Educators fear most.
“From this day forward, we are the Truancy.”
It wasn’t the type of speech designed to produce applause, but Gabriel and the other Truants clapped anyway. Zen’s words had been solemn and yet thrilling at the same time.
“So, mister, if you’re to be our commanding officer, what should we call you?” the boy named Amal asked. “You never did tell us your name.”
“My real name will be kept secret for obvious reasons,” Zen explained. “Until I devise a permanent alias, you may refer to me simply as ‘Z.’ ”
“When are we going to see some action, Z?” the one named Aaron asked.
“It would be wise to avoid direct confrontations with the Enforcers for now,” Zen said. “But we will be exploring District 13 tomorrow to find some alternative hideouts—these Enforcer patrols are quite inconvenient, and I think that the docks can offer promising shelter.”
The Truants all nodded mechanically at this. Zen wasn’t surprised that there weren’t any more questions just yet. The previous day they had been at home with their families, and now here they were, plotting armed rebellion against the institution of school. It must have seemed somewhat absurd, if not surreal. The boy named Max had his eyes glued to the floor now.
But most of the other Truants had begun to mill about, talking among themselves, getting to know each other better. Gabriel was the only one of them that Zen had known from school, but they were smart enough not to act chummy with each other; it would give the impression to the others that Gabriel was a one-man member of an elite. And that sort of separatism was dangerous.
Zen was confident that the five newcomers, Gabriel included, were likely to shape up well. He had selected this first group very carefully, as the beginning could make or break the entire future of the Truancy. The students he’d chosen not only had a history of “disrespecting authority,” but many of them had useful talents as well. With that in mind, Zen approached a dark-haired Truant sitting alone in a corner.
“You, Aaron, is it?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re good with electronics, correct?”
“Good enough to get me into the City-Wide Science Talent Search,” Aaron said gloomily. “But not good enough to save me when I got nailed for plagiarizing. In humanities, not science,” he added quickly, catching Zen’s eye.
“What would it take for you to make . . . say . . . an explosive trigger?”
“Not much. A TV remote. Maybe a radio. Hell, if you got me, like, a washing machine timer, I could rig up a time bomb. I can’t help as much with the explosive part, though.”
“This apartment building is safe and relatively large—there’s plenty of junk lying around. I want you to salvage whatever you can. In the meantime, we’ll be combing the abandoned districts very soon. We’ll get everything you list and more,” Zen promised. “As soon as you have enough to start working, I want you to prepare as many triggers as possible. Do you think you can rig up proximity explosives?”
“That’ll be harder, but—”
“Work on it. I’ll get you any raw materials that you need. Are there any particular tools you’ll require?”
“Well, it’d be nice to have—”
“Draw up a list, get it back to me as soon as possible,” Zen said briskly. “We don’t have time to waste, my friend. The Educators have no idea what we’re up to, but sooner or later they’re going to figure us out. When that happens, I want it to be too late for them to stop us.”
“I’ll do my best,” Aaron said, looking Zen in the eye. “Who knows? Maybe now they’ll appreciate my talent.”
In response Zen gave a curt nod and a grim smile. Zen had picked his comrades well after all. While Aaron’s ability would prove to be the most useful in the immediate future, the majority of his handpicked rebels could contribute some sort of specialized work. Any who couldn’t would be assigned to patrol duty, scavenging parties, and scouting work. Eventually, however, Zen knew that the latter would have to outnumber the former. He had his specialists, but he would soon need soldiers.
Zen had lately been giving increasing thought to the vagrants of the City. Obviously, few of them would be suited for specialized work, but they were tough, subtle, and had an intimate knowledge of the City streets. If he could just insure their loyalty, they would make perfect soldiers. Zen resolved that he would work on that.
“Hey Z, who’s that over there?” Gabriel asked, snapping Zen out of his revereie.
Zen followed Gabriel’s finger until his eyes came to rest upon the small figure, half-covered by blankets, in a corner that no one had noticed until then.
“Her name is Noni,” Zen explained as few other Truants glanced at the corner with interest. “She was attacked without provocation by the Enforcer that I killed. She’s still recovering from her injuries, but when she’s healthy she will join us.”
Noni rested quietly in the corner, though she eyed the newcomers with trepidation. Now with all eyes on her, she began shivering violently, a reaction only partially due to the cold.
“Are you sure she’ll be up to it?” Ken asked skeptically. “Fighting, that is. I mean, she doesn’t look too good to me. How bad is it under those bandages?”
At that pronouncement, Noni’s shivering doubled, and she shut her eyes as she pressed her arms and legs to herself even tighter. A few of the Truants began to look alarmed, but Zen acted swiftly before the girl could become any more distressed.
“Gentlemen, for your very first, and admittedly very inglorious mission as Truants, I would like you to help move some boxes downstairs,” Zen said. “You’ll find the supplies in the main hallway—everything that I was able to sneak in past the patrols. Kindly take them down to the basement.”
The other Truants didn’t argue, and quickly filed out the door, which Zen took to be a good sign. A few of them cast curious glances at Noni on the way out. The frail girl was now a pitiful, shivering lump under the blankets. As soon as the last of the newcomers filed out the door, Zen shut it and walked over to Noni, drawing something out of his coat.
“Their intentions were good, but obviously you don’t like that injury being spoken of or seen. You also don’t seem to like the cold much,” Zen observed, to which Noni nodded. “I have a solution to both those problems.”
Noni’s shivering abated slightly as she looked up hopefully at Zen, who then showed her the item he had taken from his coat—a large, black scarf. Zen swiftly wrapped the scarf around Noni’s head so that it completely obscured the lower half of her face from the nose down. The injury was concealed, and what’s more, Noni now felt much warmer.
“Thank you,” Noni mumbled from behind the scarf.
“Thank me the day you’re ready to take that off,” Zen said, gesturing towards the scarf.
And with that, he left the room, leaving Noni alone to ponder his words.
Umasi staggered along the streets of District 13, leaning against the buildings to his left for support. His ears and fingers had become painfully cold, alternating between stinging and numbness every few seconds. His cheeks burned from the chill, and his limbs had all gone sluggish, their injuries from the day before numbed by the cold. He was still decently clothed, as his two attackers had neglected to take his jacket, but even with it on the cold seemed to seep right through to his core. Umasi shuddered, both from the weather and from the knowledge that winter had only just begun.
But even worse than the cold was the hunger. It had long since ceased to ache in his stomach, becoming a dull, numb sensation instead. It enfeebled his motions, clouded his head, and blurred his vision worse than it already was. Umasi would’ve liked nothing better than to just lie down and rest right where he stood, but he had a feeling that if he did, he would never get up again. So Umasi forced himself to continue moving, wandering through District 13 in a daze.
Right now Umasi was struggling to reach the bo
rder of District 12, a living district where he might be able to find some food. District 13 was a long way off, and he had no real hope of making it, though he had no choice other than to try.
Suddenly, as Umasi stumbled around a corner and the border came into sight, he froze. Umasi’s glasses had been shattered beyond repair, and his vision clouded by hunger, but his eyesight was still good enough for him to make out what was unfolding in front of him. Two blurred figures were viciously attacking each other, a box containing what appeared to be an entire pizza pie lying forgotten beside them.
Umasi’s other senses swiftly kicked in, and over the intoxicating scent of food, he realized that the two vagrants, a girl and a boy, were talking as they fought.
“You and the rest of Chris’ pukes can all go to hell!” the girl snarled, punching the boy square in the belly.
“If we do,” the boy wheezed, clutching his stomach as he slammed his shoulder into her, “it ain’t gonna be you that sends us there!”
“I got this fair and square!” the girl shrieked, gesturing at the pizza box as she was knocked backwards by the blow. “You touch this, and the rest of us will kill all of you!”
“We ain’t scared of you!” the boy jeered, advancing upon his foe. “What’s this I heard ’bout one of your guys getting whacked the other day?”
“I was there; your kid had a knife!” the girl spat, swiftly slamming her elbow into the boy’s face. “None of you can fight for shit unarmed!”
“Tha’s funny, ’cause we ain’t got no knives, and it wasn’t us that killed any of you jackasses,” the boy said, grabbing his injured face with one hand while blocking a punch with the other. “But I’m about to, right now!”
“Well then you’re off to a pretty pathetic start, aren’t ya?” the girl taunted, lunging forward as she threw another punch.
At that moment, Umasi almost shouted out a warning, for he could tell what was about to happen from the boy’s pose. As the girl lunged, the boy suddenly lurched forward to meet her. Her fist connected with his chest, but the boy just grimaced and took the blow, both of his own arms lashing out in an instant. A moment later the boy had the girl by the throat. Umasi stood transfixed in horror as the girl thrashed about wildly, kicking, flailing, trying to pry her assailant’s hands from her neck. The boy’s arms shook with strenuous effort, his face contorted in ruthless determination. The girl began making the most horrible sounds Umasi had ever heard, an increasingly faint gagging and hissing as her last breaths escaped her lungs.