by Isamu Fukui
Cross groaned. What now?
“Hey kid,” the first boy said. “Heard you’ve been causing trouble for our friend Edward.”
Cross blinked in confusion. Then he felt cold fear as he understood.
“I haven’t done anything,” Cross said quickly. “Edward is just—”
The second boy punched him in the stomach.
“Shut up!” the boy snarled. “We’ve got something to show you, isn’t that right guys?”
“Yeah,” the third boy said. “We heard you were real proud of this!”
The boy reached into a plastic bag, and then held up a ruined painting. The paper was soggy and dripping, the colors had run, and yet still Cross could recognize the flowing landscape of a playground—his most treasured accomplishment.
That painting had hung for years in a display case on the first floor. To Cross it meant more than his own body.
“We put it in the toilet,” the first boy explained, “where it belonged.”
In that moment, all Cross saw was red.
Then he snapped.
* * *
Cross woke again with a jolt. The dream was already fading from memory, but some of the emotion still lingered. Taking a deep breath, Cross forced himself to sit up. There was something white in the corner, something that hadn’t been there before. He rubbed his eyes and focused on the strange whiteness.
It had a face. It was still white. Too white.
Cross leapt to his feet, his heart suddenly pounding, his chair toppling and skidding across the floor.
“What do you want?” Cross demanded.
The nameless girl cocked her head. “To help.”
“I don’t need any help,” Cross lied. He didn’t trust anyone right now, and this girl, with her ashen skin and silent comings and goings, thoroughly unnerved him.
To his surprise, she didn’t argue. She merely nodded and went for the exit.
Taken aback, Cross spoke again. “Wait!”
The albino paused, halfway out the door. “Yes?”
Cross hesitated. If nothing else, the eerie girl was not a student, not someone who he had let down. He could speak to the albino without responsibility clouding his thinking. He was ready to try anything to escape the confusion he found himself in.
“What would you do if you’d put a lot of people in danger?”
The albino blinked, then slowly stepped back into the room and shut the door behind her. “I would try to save them.”
“Why?” Cross pressed. “What if you didn’t care about the people at all and made bad decisions as their leader?”
The albino regarded him carefully.
“You seem to care now.”
Cross blinked. Then he sat up straight. It was true and he hadn’t even noticed. It was guilt that he had been feeling over the disastrous attack on District 15. He cared that the rest of the students were being sent to camps they didn’t deserve. He cared about the outburst he’d had in front of Sepp and Floe.
He wanted to make it right.
“How can I do it?” Cross demanded. “I’m not a leader and everyone knows it. No one is going to follow me if I ask them to defy the Government. They don’t think I really give a damn. They won’t trust me now.”
“If your current image is not enough, find a different one. Put on a new face.” The nameless girl stepped closer. “There was once a time when I survived only because I could make others believe I was something I wasn’t. Project an illusion. That’s what all leaders are, Cross; illusions made greater in the minds of their followers.”
“That’s just talk.” Cross shook his head. “There’s no way to just flick a switch and do something like that.”
The albino tilted her head.
“If your need is great enough, you’ll find your switch. When my need was great enough, I became a ghost.” She placed a hand on Cross’ shoulder. “If you believe strongly enough in a lie, then it becomes the truth.”
Cross breathed deep and leaned back in his chair. After so long not knowing what he believed in, he was ready to believe anything. The albino withdrew her hand.
Cross shut his eyes and concentrated on the Student Militia. At first it was difficult; images of the previous night’s battle swam into focus, followed by flashes from his childhood. He relived again his argument with Sepp and Floe. He went over every mistake he could remember, and thought about all the comrades he had hurt. Instead of denying the guilt he embraced it—the intensity of the emotion made him gasp.
When Cross opened his eyes they were wet with tears. He knew what must be done. The Student Militia had been a mistake from the start. And it was his duty to correct it. He clung to that purpose like a buoy in a sea of doubt.
Cross looked up at the albino, his voice hoarse.
“Is this always what it feels like to be motivated?”
The albino inclined her head. “It’s usually better than the alternative.”
Cross stood up, determined to work quickly. He wasn’t sure how long his newfound conviction would last, and his great fear now was that at any minute he might slip back into aimless apathy.
“One last question.” Cross switched on the lights. “I’m going to try to save the students from the camps. What happens if I go back to the way I was? Why would I help them if I don’t care?”
The albino smiled. “If you don’t care, then why not?”
14
MEA CULPA
A whole day passed before Cross emerged again from the classroom, and even in his absence unrest was brewing. The hallways were buzzing with conversation. Everyone had an opinion, and very few were pleased. No one seemed willing to stop the discussion, which was starting to border on talk of mutiny.
Where was the just reward that the students had earned? Where was the respect they had won through their sweat and blood? Had they risked everything fighting the Truancy only to be treated like Truants themselves? These questions were asked and repeated until the atmosphere simmered with anger.
That state of affairs suited Cross just fine. Iris had told him of her plans with the expectation that he would help quell the unrest. Instead, Cross planned to put it into overdrive. He knew he had to act quickly—if the Government got the slightest hint of what he was planning then it was all over.
Cross figured he would have a matter of hours at most between the time he briefed the Student Militia and the time it reached Iris’ ears. Their escape would have to be well underway by then.
As Cross headed for the cafeteria, conversation ceased and students stared openly. He had been absent for days now, and everyone was wondering what he was thinking, what he would do. The stares reminded Cross of how unfamiliar he was with fellow students, and briefly he recalled Takan and how the Truancy leader had known each of his subordinates by name.
There was a time when that disparity would only have driven Cross to stubbornly isolate himself further. That path was no longer open to him.
In the cafeteria Cross waited in line with everyone else and took his serving of chopped chicken and unrecognizable vegetables. There were bones in the chicken and the vegetables were foul, but Cross ate without complaint. At the tables all around him the dissatisfied murmurs persisted.
As difficult as their lives as soldiers were, every member of the Student Militia remembered what the old schools were like. Now, faced with the prospect of returning to something that promised to be just as bad, no one seemed willing. No matter their age, they had outgrown the classrooms.
Cross smiled. They were too much like real people to make proper students again.
As he put away his lunch tray, Cross reflected on his conversation with Iris, and irritation flared. Her final offer to him was what bothered him most at that moment. Iris had been so confident that she had the measure of his character that it obviously never occurred to her that Cross might disobey.
In fairness, if that last battle had gone differently Cross knew that Iris’ confidence might well have been justified.
As it was now—
“I have a real reason to fight,” Cross muttered to himself.
Cross still possessed no great ambition of his own. If it was just his fate at stake he would have been content to continue dangling it recklessly in the wind. But it was not just his fate that was threatened now. The Militia he’d been entrusted with, and all of the students that had joined it, were in danger.
Those students were dissatisfied with their lot, yet the idea to flee from it and to defy authority would never occur to them on their own. They were too used to the system to imagine a life beyond it.
This was why Cross had spent so many sleepless and hungry hours ensconced in that classroom. It was up to him to let the Militia be free to decide its own destiny.
“Hey, Cross! What do you think about the camps?”
Cross glanced at the student who had addressed him.
“I think we deserve better.”
The student smiled in response. Cross tried to smile back but the motion felt too unfamiliar to him. He simply nodded instead.
Cross stood up and headed for the nearest group of students. He had to spread word of a secret meeting to be held immediately.
* * *
Sepp walked into the gymnasium and paused, surprised to find that the lights were not on. Another student bumped into him from behind, and he took that as a cue to keep moving. Though Sepp had yet to see Cross for himself, news of the meeting had reached him, and he was curious. A group of students had been instructed to stay with the Government soldiers at the front doors to keep them busy, so whatever Cross wanted to talk about had to be important.
With the light from the open doorway, Sepp managed to pick out Floe in the front row of the bleachers. He wandered over and sat down next to her as the students around them sought seats of their own. In the center of the gymnasium Cross stood, barely visible as more than a shadow. There was something about him, something in his posture that struck Sepp as different.
Floe leaned over to whisper in Sepp’s ear. “Do you know what this is about?”
“No,” Sepp whispered back. “Do you?”
Floe shook her head. “He didn’t tell me anything. Just said it was important.”
Floe shifted agitatedly, as though she had an itch she could not scratch. Sepp blinked. Something about her behavior seemed odd too.
“Something bothering you?” Sepp asked.
“Yeah,” Floe said, tossing her head. “She’s here.”
Sepp turned to look at what Floe had gestured at. It was the nameless girl, leaning against the wall in a corner with her son standing beside her.
“Well, shouldn’t she be?” Sepp said reasonably. “I mean, she’s not part of the Militia, but she’s still—”
“I saw her coming out of the clubhouse yesterday,” Floe said darkly. “They were alone in there.”
It took Sepp a moment to understand. Then he clapped a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from laughing aloud. Here they were, hiding a secret and probably illegal meeting from the most dangerous people the City had ever seen, and Floe was worried about—oh, that was too funny.
Floe glared at him. “Is something funny?” she demanded.
“No.” Sepp lied. “Nothing!”
Before Floe could press him further, Cross cleared his throat. All heads turned towards him. The bleachers were mostly filled now. The meeting was starting.
“Before I begin I want to establish one thing,” Cross said. “If time runs out before I finish, or if you don’t stay quiet and end up attracting attention, then every one of us is probably as good as dead.”
A student called out. “What’s the big deal?”
“I think you know already what the big deal is, but I have things to say about it that you guys might want to hear.”
Sepp raised his eyebrows, and not just at the ominous warning. Cross was being unusually direct and personal, something that was even more peculiar considering how cold and detached he had been the previous day.
“First of all, I owe you an apology for the disaster in District 15. I wish I had more time to explain how I made the mistakes I did.” Cross glanced at Floe. “For now let’s just say that I blew it. I was stupid and reckless and I dragged a lot of you along with me into a battle that should never have been fought.”
The students stirred in their seats. Sepp was nearly dumbstruck. He had never known Cross to apologize for anything before, let alone make a public mea culpa like this. What was going on?
“The reason I’m telling you that right off the bat is because I want you to know that I’m not going to make the same mistake again,” Cross said. “I was visited yesterday by General Iris, who is in command of the new Government. She asked me to help sell the idea of the camps to you.”
There were angry murmurs among the students. Cross ignored them.
“I’m not going to do it,” Cross promised. “I will not lead you into a trap a second time. I’m through carrying out the Government’s plans. I know a lot of you already have your own objections to the camps. I can add another—Iris told me herself that the end result will be a system harsher than anything the Mayor ever ran, and she wanted me to help sell that to you.”
The murmurs grew louder now. Sepp bit his lip and turned to look at Floe. Her eyes were wide.
“I’m not going to do what she wants,” Cross continued. “If it seems like we’re being treated no better than Truants, then that’s because we aren’t. The General believes that we’ve been infiltrated so deeply that there’s no difference between—”
“That’s impossible!” a student cried. “They saw what happened out there, the traitors already turned on us!”
“Tell it to the Truants when you find yourself locked up with them in the same camps. Iris claims it’s all necessary to restore the peace. I don’t think she cares how many of us have to suffer for it. All she sees when she looks at us is a threat.”
The simmering anger was now starting to boil over. The students had enough sense to keep their voices down, but they could no longer contain their outrage. Sepp himself was stunned. After years of sacrifice, this was how their loyalty would be rewarded? They would be rounded up with the Truants?
Then to everyone’s surprise, Cross smiled. A rare sight.
“I’m glad that you already feel that way,” he said. “To be honest, I was a little worried. I didn’t want to twist anyone’s arm to get them to see things the way I do. I don’t want to go to camp, and if none of you want to either, then none of us have to. We have can give the Government a different answer.
“We can defy them.”
A fresh wave of murmuring broke out, but not as much as Sepp expected. Sepp had seen the suggestion coming—the thought had crossed his mind too—but he was sure many others had not. The quiet was in deference to Cross, he realized. Somehow their leader was really connecting with his audience.
“The Truancy has managed to escape by scattering into the general population,” Cross said. “Anything they can do, we can do better. Most of you have something the Truancy does not—family and friends you can count on to hide you.”
Sepp nodded at that. Floe, however, spoke up.
“What about those who don’t?”
Cross looked back at her. “Then you’ll be like me, able to make your own choices. Here’s mine: I’m staying behind to hold the Government’s attention here for as long as possible.” Cross returned his gaze to the crowd. “If you have families, I recommend you leave immediately in staggered bunches. I’ve already sent messengers with similar instructions to all the smaller Militia bases in the City.
“Remember, we have to do this quickly and quietly. I trust all of you not to speak, but word is bound to get out sooner or later, and when it does the Government is going to be here in force. We have hours at most. Get moving, everyone. Now.”
At his command, the students began pouring from the bleachers, not orderly, but not quite as a mob. Most of them headed straight for the doors, tho
ugh a good number crowded around Cross, asking how they could help. Sepp hesitated for a moment, unsure of which group to join.
Floe stood up and glanced down at him. “I suppose you’ll be going off to visit your family after all then?”
Sepp looked at her, then at Cross. He quickly made his decision.
“Nah.” He grinned. “They can wait. If I left now, who’d be the savior for the rest of you?”
Floe giggled at that, and together they went to join their leader as he began to explain his plan.
* * *
The soldiers were building something.
Hammers fell and walls rose. Concrete oozed and drills roared. Bulldozers demolished obstacles, tossing their crumbling remnants aside.
Umasi watched it all as he leaned against an alley wall, wrapped in his windbreaker. Concealed by the shadows and a pile of trash bags, Umasi tried to discern what it was that the Government was doing to what had been a war-torn parking lot in District 2. They had taken over some buildings around the area and were renovating them, but the barbed wire fences and tall concrete walls were new. It all struck Umasi as ominous. Perhaps a military base of operations?
A group of soldiers began walking in his direction, and though they were a good distance off Umasi ducked behind the trash bags. He adjusted his windbreaker, trying to cover more of his body. The black jacket had been overlarge when Zyid had first worn it, but now it fit Umasi almost too perfectly.
Minutes passed by, and soon so did the soldiers. Umasi released the breath he’d been holding. The fear of being discovered was both familiar and unpleasant. How long had it been since he had felt like this? Hunted, afraid, vulnerable.
Over the past three years, respected by both the Truancy and the Educators, Umasi had gotten used to the City being his domain. Now things were back to the way they had been the winter he had run away. He was finding it harder to evade his pursuers this time. His intended trip to District 1 had run into a snag when he found it impossible to move any further without running into soldiers. To proceed, he would need the cover of darkness.