by Isamu Fukui
“They’ve barricaded the front doors,” a soldier said. “We could blow some holes in the walls if we had to.”
“Ignore the first floor. It’s easy to defend and difficult to approach,” Iris said. “That building has a complete blind spot on the left side. We’ll get onto the roof from the adjacent building and get in without risking enemy fire.”
“Can’t we just get up there with a chopper?”
Iris shook her head. “All available helicopters are helping to hunt down the escapees. They’re also too noisy for this. We have more than enough resources here to take care of this petty distraction. Divide into three groups. I will lead the first.”
“You personally, ma’am?”
Iris smiled. It violated all sorts of regulation and procedure, but her father had always approved of her willingness to get hands-on. Her detractors had nicknamed her the Spoiled Princess because of whims like these. Most of those detractors had been silenced when her operational record proved to be nearly flawless.
“Yes, me personally,” Iris said. “I believe I counted five snipers just now, correct? They will cover us when we go in.”
“One of the snipers is reporting that his night vision is malfunctioning.”
“He’ll have to do without,” Iris said coolly. “Let’s get going. Oh, and fire a few shots at the front doors, just to make some noise. They’ll think it odd if we don’t.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
* * *
Cross grimaced as another round of bullets clanged against the front door like a hailstorm. He and most of the remaining students had gathered by the entrance, helpless to do anything but watch as the machine guns pounded away at the metal doors. Dents now pockmarked almost ever inch of their surface, but so far they held. The doors remained shut, bolstered by the piles of junk the students had used to reinforce it.
“I think they’ve fired enough metal at us to make a new door,” Sepp said, clutching his wounded shoulder. “You’d think that if it really were their General out there, she’d be more creative than this.”
“It’s her,” Cross said. “I recognized her voice.”
“Pity you missed with that rocket, then,” Floe said. “She’s probably planning a way to get in here right now.”
“Well, she won’t do it like this,” Cross said. “Even if they shoot the doors off the hinges, we’ve got too much junk welded to them. It’s going to take something bigger than—”
An explosion rocked the doors, and several students screamed. The metal shuddered from the blast, bent out of shape, but did not give way. Every eye now seemed fixed on the doors, unblinking.
They knew that all that stood between them and the unstoppable forces out to kill them was the fragile junk that they had piled up. The atmosphere was tense, and everyone was scared. Though Cross couldn’t see their faces in the gloom, he could guess how they felt. His own heart was pounding, but he took it as a good sign that none of his prior madness had yet shown any hint of resurfacing.
Another blast hit the doors. This time no one screamed. It was almost better than the tension of waiting. Everyone was ready to get it over with now. Cross held his breath, bracing himself for the next hit. Then a voice came in on the radio.
“Cross, we’ve got a problem up he—”
The voice dissolved to static. Everyone stared at his radio, the doors momentarily forgotten. Cross stared along with them; he had ordered the lookouts on the higher floors not to use the radios except in case of an emergency. What could possibly—
“They’re coming in through the windows!”
“—the roof, man, they’re on the roof!”
“They’re here! Argh—”
More voices came in on the radios as the other sentries all began to report in. There were gunshots, followed by static and screams. Cross stared up at the ceiling, cold dread filling his stomach. Some of those noises hadn’t come from the radio.
“Dammit, it was a distraction!” Cross leapt to his feet, and the other students followed suit. “Get to the stairways, right now! GO!”
The students dashed for the stairways in groups of three to five. With a sickening feeling Cross knew that it wouldn’t be enough, that they were probably all going to die. Sepp and Floe ran beside him as he dashed for the nearest staircase. They kicked open the doors and ran inside, where they could already hear descending footsteps.
Cross aimed upwards and fired a three-round burst. A uniformed soldier toppled and fell, screaming on his way down. Retaliatory fire immediately began raining down on them, and the three had to back out of the way. Floe drew a firebomb from her hip sack and hurled it upwards. It detonated against the railing, spraying fiery liquid onto the floor above.
As if in response, one of the soldiers dropped a grenade onto their floor. It bounced against the ground, and there was a blinding flash and a deafening noise. Completely disoriented, Cross stumbled around, unable to hear anything over the ringing in his ears. He didn’t know what kind of grenade it was, but it was far more debilitating than a little fire and smoke.
Just as Cross started to wonder if he would ever see or hear again, his vision began to clear, and he lunged for the open door. Sepp and Floe were nowhere to be found—had they left him behind, or had they stumbled out on their own? As the descending soldiers behind him began to fire, Cross shut the door and ran for it.
The ringing began to subside, and Cross became aware of distant gunshots. With a sinking feeling, he realized that the battle for the other floors must already have been lost. The soldiers were storming the first floor.
Cross ducked down a side hallway in the hopes that the soldiers coming from behind wouldn’t notice. As he ran, a dark shape appeared ahead at the end of the hall, too large to be a student. Cross fired, and the shape crumpled. Another shape appeared, more cautious than the last, and Cross ducked into a classroom doorway as bullets flew at him.
The gunfire ceased, and Cross quietly shut the door, thinking to hide inside. Then he heard hinges squeak open behind him, and he realized his mistake. The classroom had two entrances.
Cross dived for the floor as three soldiers entered the room, all firing. His rifle slipped from his hands, and bullets clanged above him as he crawled for the safety of the teacher’s desk. The soldiers stopped wasting their ammo and began cautiously approaching his hiding place. His heart pounding like it was ready to stop at any moment, Cross resolved to go out fighting.
Cross drew his knife and crept forward, keeping his head below the desks. A soldier came into sight, and Cross lunged, aiming to plunge his knife into the man’s neck. Instead, his momentum carried the blade into the soldier’s body armor, failing to pierce it.
Cross and the soldier hit the ground, and as the other soldiers approached, shoving desks out of their way, Cross knew that he was dead. He was glad, at least, that he would die for something that had meaning—the intensity and excitement was there as usual, but they brought him no satisfaction. His mind remained clear.
Then a chain shot through the air, a metal ring striking one of the soldiers in the face. The others turned to see what had happened, and Cross seized his chance. He plunged his knife into the nearest soldier’s armpit, a vulnerable spot in their armor.
At the same time, a specter swept into the classroom, clutching the metal ring like a brass knuckle and knocking a soldier out with it. A second soldier tried to bring his rifle around, but she deftly seized his arm, grabbed him by the armor, and then hurled him into a pile of desks.
As the three soldiers stirred, disarmed and disoriented, the nameless albino advanced upon Cross. She had found a blue Student Militia jacket somewhere and now wore it unbuttoned, blending better into the gloom. She kicked the knife out of Cross’ hand, grabbed his arm, and then pulled him up so that they were face-to-face.
“That’s enough killing,” she said, finality in her voice. “The battle is over. There’s a service exit in the kitchen—it’s the only way out.”
She lo
oked both more and less unsettling in the shadows, Cross thought. Her appearance was less like a weird human and more like the stories of a typical phantom. In that moment Cross felt he knew exactly what she had meant when she spoke of becoming a ghost.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
At the head of her squad, Iris preferred to do the dirtiest work herself and let her subordinates cover her. She fired a burst on full automatic, forcing the students at the bottom of the stairs to scramble for cover. With the coast clear, Iris stormed down the stairs before the students even saw her coming. The nearest boy’s eyes widened as Iris fired again on full automatic, then he toppled and fell down the stairs into his comrades.
Knowing that her weapon was empty, Iris didn’t bother to reload. Instead she tossed her rifle aside and unhitched her staff from her back, pressing a button to extend it to full length. With a leap she was upon the students, and with two quick movements she had struck one in the belly and the other in the face. Each time her staff made contact, Iris pressed a button on it to discharge an electrical shock.
The staff flitted through the darkness with incredible speed and precision. Several more times there was a crackle of electricity, accompanied by cries of pain. Within seconds all the students had fallen, paralyzed. There was a thunder of footsteps as Iris’ troops descended and began to handcuff the students.
Iris shrunk her staff and slung it across her back once more. Drawing her radio, she checked in with the other squads.
“Report.”
“Stairwell B is secure.”
“Stairwell C, secure!”
Iris nodded. As far as she could tell, the raid had gone exactly as planned. They had started from the top down, eliminating all resistance along the way. All the floors from the first to the sixth were now under control, and yet … something seemed off. They’d encountered less resistance than she had expected.
As her soldiers fanned out around her, Iris drew out her handheld GPS and examined their location. In an instant she noticed it—a service entrance that connected the basement cafeteria to an alley behind the school. She had assumed that every exit was covered by Government snipers. A careless error. The second in as many days. She was slipping.
Iris replaced the GPS and made a quick calculation. Her troops had saved the basement for last, and any students hiding there were probably making a run for it at that very moment. There was no way she could catch up, and trying to would be foolish. She reached for her radio.
“Blow the front doors,” she said, then turned to her squad. “Follow me.”
Everyone knew better than to ask questions. They quickly exited out onto the first floor, just in time to see the front doors and the junk piled behind them blasted away, large pieces rebounding off the ceiling and walls. Iris stepped through the smoldering wreckage, her squad following behind her. Now out in the night air, Iris broke into a sprint, heading around the building and towards the back alley where any escaping students would have to pass through.
As they headed for their inevitable confrontation, no one—not the students, not the soldiers, not even Iris herself—noticed that there was a boy watching from an empty building nearby. The unseen spectator adjusted his sunglasses. Then he wrapped himself in the darkness of his windbreaker, and waited.
16
BROTHER AGAINST SISTER
It was a grim bunch of students that gathered in the cafeteria kitchen. Barely more than a dozen of them were left now, all others presumed dead or captured. Cross was relieved to see that Sepp and Floe were among the survivors, but the others he had failed weighed on his mind. Cross supposed that came with having a conscience.
“Good to see you again, boss,” Sepp said. “For a while there I thought it’d be just us and the local roach infestation.”
“When the soldiers dropped … whatever it was, Sepp and I managed to get downstairs,” Floe said shakily. “We were really worried when we found out you weren’t with us.”
“At least we made it.” Cross shook his head. “A lot of the others didn’t.”
Cross felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. He didn’t have to look to know that it was the albino.
“We don’t have much time,” she said. “The Government may already have figured out what we’re up to.”
The words were sobering, and Cross forced himself to stand and think straight. He glanced at the albino, finding it ironic that she was the only one still wearing a Student Militia jacket. Then something occurred to him.
“Where is your son?” Cross asked. “Shouldn’t he—”
“I got him to a safe place awhile ago,” she replied. “Shortly after you began barricading the building.”
“Will he be all right on his own?” Floe asked.
“I expect so,” the nameless girl said. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to leave him alone for a while. He takes good care of himself.”
“Okay then.” Cross took a deep breath. “It’s time for us to say our good-byes. Everyone did well. I wish it hadn’t come to this. You deserve better. If you have families, pay them a visit. Either way, try not to get caught. The sewers and subways are our best bets at this point. Good luck.”
With that, he walked over to the back of the kitchen and pulled open a small door that led out into the night. In a glum procession, the students began filing out of the room. Their expressions, some sad, some even accusatory, did little to improve Cross’ mood. As Floe reached him, she paused for a moment as their gazes met.
“Are you all right, Cross?” she asked gently.
“No.” Cross shook his head. “I’m a mess and I’ll be lucky to ever get my head on straight. Get out of here, Floe.”
“We’re still alive, aren’t we?” Floe smiled. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
Cross felt a sudden urge to say something else, but it was too late. She stepped outside and was lost from view. Cross cursed himself. Why hadn’t he asked to go with her? Feeling fresh regret gnaw at his insides, Cross reached out and put a hand on Sepp’s shoulder to stop the boy.
“Sepp.”
Sepp looked apprehensive. “Yeah, boss?”
“My last orders to you,” Cross said. “Forget about splitting up, follow Floe. Take good care of her. Don’t tell her I sent you.”
Sepp blinked in surprise, then saluted. “Got it. And thanks.”
For what? Cross wondered as he watched Sepp go.
The rest of the students swiftly made their exit. Soon Cross was the only one left in the dark kitchen, alone with his thoughts. Then there was movement behind him, and he realized that he wasn’t alone. The girl with no name walked forward and looked at him expectantly.
“Well then,” she said. “Shall we go?”
Cross glared at her. “What do you mean, ‘we?’”
“You’ll need a guide, Cross,” she said, entering the doorway. “Otherwise you’ll just end up losing yourself again.”
Cross hesitated for a moment, wondering what exactly she meant. Then as though drawn in her wake, he followed her outside. The night air was oppressive and humid, but the darkness afforded him some comfort. It seemed like the Government really hadn’t known about this exit.
Soon the silent procession of students reached the beginning of a tangled maze of back alleys, and Cross felt ready to relax.
At that exact moment, soldiers appeared from around a corner. At their head, Iris smiled coldly. Without a word they opened fire.
* * *
Umasi waited patiently as the gunshots rang out. Resting atop the rusted fire escape, he could hear panicked orders to scatter, followed by other orders to pursue. One of those voices was familiar—now getting closer. Good.
Umasi’s plans to continue on to District 1 had again been rendered impossible, this time by the sudden commotion in District 2. However, the disturbance had also aroused his curiosity. In lieu of other options, he’d decided to investigate, and there at the District 2 School h
e had seen and heard Iris identify herself. In a stroke of luck or misfortune, his enemy had come to him.
Umasi frowned as muzzle flashes lit up the darkened alleyways. He had been surprised to find the students rebelling against the Government, especially after the war had ended. The students’ efforts had been valiant but suicidal, and Umasi couldn’t imagine what it was that had driven them to such desperate action. Had the Mayor left secret instructions for them before the Government’s invasion? That seemed far-fetched, for he knew the Mayor had avoided doing the same with the Enforcers for fear of being thought insane.
Gunshots and cries of pain echoed up from the tangled alleys below. Umasi averted his gaze, though his ears could not drown out the noise. He had learned to steel himself against such sounds—as much as he wanted to help, there was no way for him to save everyone, and sometimes saving any would put everything at risk.
Umasi refocused on his goal, his purpose for being here. He had definitely picked out Iris’ voice among the dozens of others, and he was fairly sure that she was heading his way. A pair of dark shapes came into view in the alley below, and as he braced himself for the coming confrontation Umasi felt a tinge of apprehension. This was the best opportunity he could imagine for confronting his sister, but this was an enemy who’d hated and watched him since he was born—an enemy he knew nothing about.
There were more flashes of gunfire, and suddenly Umasi’s heart skipped a beat. One of the fleeing students down there was not a student. Even in the dark he could tell that she was white like paper. It was impossible … but there she was. As Umasi struggled with this realization, a third shape entered the alley below. The pursuer. Iris.
He did not have to think now—his course of action was clear. Drawing a sword, Umasi leapt into the darkness below.
* * *
In a moment of clarity, Cross wondered why he was running. Maybe it was because of Iris’ rank and the authority it carried with it. Maybe it was the way she had calmly shot two students in the head before any of them could retaliate. Maybe it was because the nameless girl beside him hadn’t even tried to fight, perhaps sensing an enemy she could not match.