by M. G. Herron
Ari spoke again. This time his words reached her ringing ears. “The map showed an exit! North side of the square.”
Po nodded because she couldn’t find breath for words. Her chest heaved. She braced herself on her knees with trembling arms to catch her breath. The men working at the razor wire managed to sever its length. Together, they dragged the coils aside.
“That way?” she finally managed to ask and turned to look.
Ari squinted into the distance and shook his head as if to clear it. Po could just make out an opening in the north wall. A couple police cars were parked across the street, but they would be easy to squeeze by on foot, assuming no one tried to stop them. When Ari looked back at Po, his good eye widened.
“Look out!” He thrust her back.
Hundreds of people poured through the gap in the razor wire. Ari backpedaled as the main body of the mob surged at them, forcing them farther and farther apart.
The eastern half of the square flooded with people. Like a piece of flotsam floating on an angry ocean, Po fought with bruised limbs to remain upright. She focused on pulling herself toward empty space and not tripping on slick patches near bodies that had been sucked underneath the flow of humanity.
She grabbed onto the pedestal of another statue at the north end of the square, and hauled herself atop it. It was another Telerethon memorial like the one at the opposite end, her dry reef in the storm. Po rubbed tears in her burning eyes, sucked air down her raw throat, cradled her throbbing head in her hands. Her palms were stained dark brown with dried blood. The smoke had thinned in the air, and in the distance she could see that the line of riot shields had broken and begun to retreat. The mob pushed the army out of the square through the eastern avenue.
As the army gave ground, Po stepped down from the statue. The northern exit was open to her, the guards stationed at the blockade hurrying around the corner to double back and support the retreat. The road to Rose Petal—to Jia—beckoned. Po stood and stared at the empty avenue for a long moment, battling with indecision. Eventually, she clenched her shaky hands into solid fists, and ignoring her protesting instincts, hopped down from the statue and waded back into the mob.
As she searched for Ari, a sawing racket of hydraulic squeals echoed down the eastern avenue. An aisle formed in the line of retreating riot shields and half a dozen mechs stomped in, all burnished angles and ball-bearing joints and heavy weaponry. Each of them towered over the crowd at nearly triple the height of a man. In the clear plastic cockpits, the silhouette of a man moved in each. When he swung his arm out, the mech swung an arm. When he pulled a trigger, the mech would shoot.
The massive robots leveled their metal arms, which doubled as guns, and advanced into the crowd. A space formed around them. Anyone who didn’t back away was kicked unceremoniously by an oversized boot or targeted with non-lethal beanbag cannons. Guarding their retreat in this way, the army was safe to withdraw without being harassed.
In the half circle in front of the mechs lay the body of a woman face down in a pool of blood, a teenager staggering away, holding his side, and Ari, who knelt and clutched his head in his hands.
CHAPTER 18
PANDEMONIUM
Like someone cranked the volume of the world down, the hydraulic racket of the mechs, the angry insults from the crowd, and the shuffling retreat of the overwhelmed riot soldiers fell away from her. Po’s vision narrowed to a dead-end alley. For a brief moment in her mind, she was staring down the rat-faced thug. She was handcuffed and helpless in a dark room.
Po had done what was necessary to escape her kidnappers and survive the hell of her recent days thanks to instinct, training, and a heavy dose of luck—if Ari hadn’t helped her pick the lock of her handcuffs, she might dead…or worse.
She took a deep breath and pressed into the stinking thick of the crowd, shoving her way toward Ari, one petite girl with the strength of determination. A determined snarl twisted her face.
The mechs marched toward Ari where he knelt even as she fought her way to them. The crowd retreated, no one daring to step in the deadly path of the killing machines go to Ari’s aid.
Po only hoped she could reach him in time. A man, screaming hysterically with a cracked voice, blocked her way. She shoved him aside, and when she stepped forward she found herself at the edge of a small clearing. Ten yards in front of her, Ari was marooned in the shadow of the advancing mechs.
He shuddered and balled up in pain, oblivious to the danger stomping around him. Po broke into the space as the nearest mech stepped forward, drawing high a gleaming boot. Po dashed under the boot. Blue guidance lasers from the bottom of the sole in the mechs foot traced a neon arc across the cobblestones, over her head. The distance closed. Po leaned down, grabbed Ari’s shoulders with both hands, and twisted his body out of the path of the descending boot.
The sharp metal edge of the mech’s foot missed Ari by inches. It kept falling, and bit into Po’s hip instead. She cried out in pain and tumbled away, rolling between the next pair of oversized robotic legs.
The machine above her leaned over and gazed between its legs at her. Centered in the mech’s chest, the backlit outline of its human pilot was visible through the tinted glass of the cockpit. The pilot bent over, glanced back up, and cocked his head.
A detonator beeped once, twice, and thunder exploded upward into the belly of the mech that had nearly crushed Ari. Pandemonium erupted in the square. The hatch of the cockpit opened as the pilot fell out, coughing, and took a long fall to the ground. His body lay still under the smoking mass of twisted metal above him.
People scattered away when the huge thing began to tip.
Po rolled over onto her stomach as the world darkened—another boot came down where she had been lying a moment ago. She pushed herself to her feet, wincing as she put weight on her right leg. A muscle twinged in her hip flexor, but she ignored it.
Chaos reigned as people ran in every direction. Retaliatory gunfire erupted from the remaining mechs, aimed at a tall man who sprinted away from the machine that had been destroyed. Someone about Po’s size with a gas mask concealing her face braced against the rapid kick of a black rifle, one foot on the prone body of a soldier for support. Sparks flew as the bullets ricocheted off four different mechs. She moved from target to target with precise bursts of gunfire.
The redhead dove to her left as a mech opened fire. The shots missed, and fleeing people fell like dominoes.
Po tore her eyes away from the carnage and hobbled over to Ari, who was just now struggling to his feet. The shock of being throw against the pavement seemed to have brought him back to the present. He took the hand Po offered him and together they hauled him to his feet.
Leaning on each other for support, Po and Ari hobbled away.
About half the mechs had abandoned their fallen comrades, and retreated to where the army had gone, and were just now walling themselves off behind the fallback blockades at the eastern and southern exits of Telerethon Square. The rest of the mechs, the ones that had withstood the rebel attack, had been cut off by the mob which now poured through the barricade in such numbers that the entire square, four hundred yards across, was nearly filled with protestors.
The mechs’ gunfire ceased as quickly as it had begun, but the damage had been done. The crowd pressed in thick on the remaining three mechs, hindering their movement. For each person the mechs hit or shot at or scared away, fifty more took their place.
Ari and Po paused to catch their breath near the northern exit, and looked back. A mech staggered and toppled into another, sending them both crashing to the ground. Bodies clambered over the fallen machines like a swarm of ants. They ripped at the doors and handles the pilot used to climb into the cockpit. Someone bashed a shatterproof side window and peeled it off. Sparks shot up.
“What’s that?” Ari asked.
“A handheld laser cutter, I think.”
Seconds later, several people pried the top of the mech back like a tin can.
One of the gas mask-clad rebels climbed on top of the mech as people dissected it. She stood tall, reached under the mask, and removed it with one hand, exposing short red spikes.
Sasha’s head turned as she scanned the crowd. They were a hundred yards apart, but Po knew instantly when Sasha’s eyes locked on hers that she had been recognized.
A tall dark man climbed up on the mech next to her and followed her gaze. Felix. He snarled and barked an order and several of the apparent rebels spun simultaneously to stare across the crowd at Po and Ari.
Sasha reached a hand out, grabbed Felix’s shoulder. She shook her head pointed at herself, and then pointed an accusatory finger at Felix.
I told you so, that motion said. You got what you wanted. Now let’s go.
Felix nodded reluctantly and disappeared into the crowd. Sasha dropped her gas mask and followed him. The rest of the rebels dispersed, now anonymous among the mob.
Po maneuvered around until they were facing the exit. They limped together through plaza exit to the north.
CHAPTER 19
ROSE PETAL
Po’s feet ached. They had been walking for hours, moving north and east. A hollow pain in her stomach quietly informed her that her body was so hungry it was liable to consume itself. The sun had set some time ago, and she was glad for the privacy, if not the chill, as it was easier to mind your business and avoid the patrols that ranged Rose Petal in the dark.
The patrols were less frequent here than they had been in Factory. Less trouble to be found in this part of the city.
Fewer people, too. The place looked abandoned. Po had barely seen a handful of lit windows since the sun went down, and not a single pedestrian. Like a ghost town.
“How are you holding up?“ she asked Ari where they squatted behind an overgrown hedge, after the sound of crunching boots faded away.
“Head still hurts,” Ari said. “Nothing a strong vodka can’t cure. Think there’s a bar around here?“
Po chuckled and shook her head. “How can you joke after everything we’ve been through?”
“How can you not?” He beamed at her with his crooked smile, but she could see his jaw muscles clench with the pain.
“My aunt will know what to do,” Po said. “We’ve got to be close.”
They moved on through the quiet neighborhoods with the nice, two-story wooden houses and old-fashioned shingled roofs. They passed a broad three-story with a wide front porch, practically a mansion at the rate land went for this close to the city. Rose petals decorated the street signs attached to a solar-powered street lamp at the corner.
She suspected that most of the residents in this area had packed it out weeks ago, when the protests turned violent, to stay with relatives in another city or move out to their country homes. People with money had that option.
Po knew her aunt and uncle had the money, she just hoped against hope that they hadn’t taken the option. A senator, Bohai probably needed to be here during the crisis. But he would spend most of his time at the Capitol building, and wouldn’t want to leave Kylie alone. Po was banking on the fact that her aunt, her father’s sister in every way, had remained as stubborn and strong as ever.
They walked another block and stopped for a moment, leaning against the porch of a corner dwelling. Ari braced his hands on his thighs and grimaced.
“We must be nearly there,” Po said. “Come on, you can do it.”
Po glanced over her shoulder for the thousandth time, and something about the view in that direction tugged at her memory. “This looks familiar. Wait a minute.”
They backtracked for two blocks, and finally turned right. Po gasped. A yellow bulb, the only one on in the whole street, illuminated the front door of a narrow two-story townhouse and a small square of brown grass that, to her aunt’s displeasure Po recalled, had been left to dry out after water rationing was implemented last summer.
Leaving Ari in the grass to catch his breath, Po skipped up to the house on her own and knocked on the blue front door with her fist. Her hands shook with anticipation. Was she really here? The door didn’t open.
She pounded her fist against the door again, more urgently this time. The door cracked an inch, then swung wide as a tall woman in flowing black pants and a clean white tank top looked out with an expression of shock. Then her hands flew to her mouth, a look of recognition banishing her fear. She wrapped Po in a fierce embrace.
“Po!” the tall woman whispered. “Oh thank god. You came back to us. My sweet niece. Oh thank god you’re alive.”
A dark-haired little girl squealed from inside the house and came running, then threw herself into Po and Kylie and nearly knocked them all down the front steps.
“Po!” Jia exclaimed breathlessly, nuzzling between her aunt and her older sister. “I told you, Aunt Kylie! I told you! Aren’t you glad we made Uncle Bohai let us stay now?”
“Very glad, button.” Kylie held Po out at arm’s length and examined her dirty face, her yellowing bruises, the filthy red bandanna hanging around her neck.
Po shrugged out of Kylie’s concerned examination—so like a nurse to start prodding at her injuries right away—and knelt down to look her sister in the eyes. “Jia,” she said, and tears fell from her eyes. “I’m sorry I left you.”
Jia threw her wiry arms around Po’s neck and squeezed her something fierce. “You came back,” she said. “Like you promised.”
“I did,” Po said, and marveled at it. Was this a dream, or had they really made it?
Kylie inhaled sharply. Po shoved Jia behind her, but relaxed when she saw that her aunt was staring at Ari.
He had stepped into the ring of the porch light and let the yellow glow was over his mangled face. Po’s stomach dropped when she saw how puffy and raw his skin was where his flesh pressed against the silicate in jagged lines. His eyes rolled back into his head, and her whole body went as cold.
Po jumped off the steps and ran to him. Ari staggered, and collapsed in her arms.
Aunt Kylie ran over and knelt by Po, Jia on her heels. Kylie pressed two fingers under Ari’s jaw. “His pulse is weak. We need to get him inside.”
As they lifted him, Kylie asked, “Who is he?”
“His name is Ari. He saved my life, Aunt Kylie. We have to help him.”
Kylie nodded. “We’ll do what we can. On the count of three. One, two…”
Jia held his feet, while Kylie and Po each lifted with hands under his shoulders. They carried Ari into the house, and Po nearly dropped him when she saw open flames on the television screen set into the wall. It was a news channel. The camera zoomed out to show the bonfire blazing in the middle of the sea of people gathered in Telerethon Square—the protestors had toppled the statues around the perimeter of the square, even Telerethon’s, and were burning the bodies of their fallen comrades on a great pyre in the middle.
“Po,” her aunt’s voice whipped out. “Set him down on the couch. He’s heavy, and I need to get my first aid kit.”
Kylie ran upstairs.
“What’s wrong with him?” Jia asked.
Ari’s body convulsed with a slight tremor, then went still. His shallow breath wheezed out of his chest in rapid gulps.
“I don’t know,” Po said. “I don’t know.”
She put the back of one hand on Ari’s brow, damp with fever, then sat down on the edge of the couch and pulled her little sister close. She buried her face in Jia’s thick black hair, reveling in the scent of her aliveness, wrapping the lemon sweet smell of her—Jia, alive!—in her arms.
Episode 4
HIGH CRIMES
CHAPTER 20
KHAN ON CAMERA
Kai Ming stalked toward the Capitol building through the sweltering afternoon. The weather this summer had been mild until yesterday, when the heat ratcheted up. Breathing in at midday felt like inhaling air from a furnace vent, and the sun hammered down out of a clear blue sky and seemed to singe the top of his balding head.
He carried
a disposable plastic water bottle in his good hand, but didn’t drink from it. It had a blue plastic label on the front and a sport lid that squirted out a stream of water when you squeezed it. These bottles were so abundant one hardly noticed them at all. For the convenience of elected officials, they were sold at cost at the various small stores inside the larger government buildings.
Ming’s shook his watch so it sat on the brace wrapped around his injured left hand, and looked down. It was 10am. That meant that two hours out of twenty-four had been lost to the journey. He swore, and walked faster.
His left hand ached. It was still swollen from the accident. Ming had refused a cast at the hospital. He hated the confinement and clumsiness that came with a hard fiberglass cast, but was diligent about keeping his hand wrapped tightly with a cloth brace to stabilize his wrist. The cuts and scrapes from glass and pavement had scabbed over. They itched constantly, which he knew meant they were healing, but not fast enough. If he turned his wrist too quickly or tried to lift something that was too heavy, sharp pains shot up his forearm and tingled at his elbow.
But the accident hadn’t affected his legs. Ming took the stone steps two at a time and was breathing hard by the time he reached the top of the third staircase. The short burst of exertion felt good in his lungs despite the heat. He was breathing hard when he reached the top.
Ming turned to look back at the city while he caught his breath. He drew a sleeve across his damp brow. A dozen pairs of soldiers patrolled the edge of the manicured lawn. Their camouflage uniforms actually blended in with the bright green of the grass—flourishing despite the heat—and the grey cityscape beyond.
Yesterday, he couldn’t even have seen the soldiers from where he stood. Their encampment had once again been encroached so they had moved their protective defenses, as if digging into a trench. His stomach somersaulted, and not from the heat or the pain of his broken hand.
It didn’t leave much room for error.