Truancy City

by Isamu Fukui

  He chuckled. Then there was a strange noise, from somewhere else in the room. Rothenberg turned to see that the elevator doors had been forced open, revealing the empty shaft.

  Cross stood before them, an expression of total shock on his face.

  * * *

  Iris lay on the floor of her study, staring up at the ceiling. She had no strength to return to her chair, and she knew it would be wasteful to try. She glanced at the door once more to inspect her handiwork. She had rigged it up to some grenades—when it next opened, Iris hoped the explosion would be enough to hide her body for a few extra minutes.

  Iris turned her head to look at the monitors. The evacuation was proceeding as orderly as she had hoped, the displays showing many different views of the City. In every street it seemed there was a steady stream of civilians being escorted to the nearest bridge or tunnel by the soldiers who had followed her orders. Iris was rather proud of the efficiency with which it was being done.

  The only problem was that the bridges and tunnels were still sealed off.

  Iris sighed and looked back up at the ceiling. Maybe it had been a bad idea to entrust the Penance Tower operation to a pair of kids. She wondered if the boy and girl had run into some sort of trouble. If they failed, then Iris’ whole carefully coordinated evacuation would be for nothing.

  Iris glanced at the monitors again. Thousands of people were waiting at the exits now, waiting for an escape that might never come. There was nothing she could do about it but hope.

  Iris let her head drop to the floor. She felt strangely cold—the blood loss, she told herself. For that same reason it was getting hard to think. Iris creased her brow in frustration. She already felt faint, and the pain was somehow numb, distant. She didn’t have long left.

  Oh well, nothing to do now but wait. As the seconds passed, Iris amused herself with recollections from her childhood. She had always dreamed of being a great leader someday, like her father. Iris chuckled. Bleeding out on the floor in a place like this had never been part of those fantasies. She hoped such embarrassing details would be omitted from her eulogy.

  It was only getting harder to focus. Iris began to feel that a nap would be very nice. She fought that urge; she wanted to be conscious until the end.

  Dimly she became aware of approaching footsteps, outside in the hallway. Iris smirked. It had taken them longer than she had expected, but the Government had finally traced her and sent a squad to retrieve her. She felt bad that they were going to be blown up, but it would help buy the people of the City just a little more time.

  Iris shut her eyes, relaxing. No matter how the evacuation proceeded from here, the clock was already ticking. The Government would realize what had happened, and then utter destruction would be on its way. There was nothing more that she could do about it. Her time was up.

  With some difficulty, Iris raised her knuckles and brushed them against her forehead for a final time.

  Then the door opened, and her life ended.

  * * *

  Cross did not believe what he was seeing. His mind refused to process what his eyes were telling him.

  Rothenberg scowled, and then the man turned and vanished from sight. A door creaked open, and for a moment Cross could hear the storm outside. Then the door slammed shut, and all was silent again.

  The nameless girl remained motionless on the floor, slumped against the monitor. Her white clothes were stained red. Blood dribbled from her lips, but her gaze still seemed to follow Cross. There was the faintest of smiles on her face. Numbly, Cross realized that she was still alive.

  He dropped to his knees before her, tears streaming unbidden from his eyes. The albino looked at Cross. Her voice was so faint that it broke his heart.

  “Live,” she said.

  With that one word she shut her eyes, and Cross knew she was dead.

  As the seconds passed Cross became aware that he was screaming. He began to thrash about, and this time there was no one to support him. He was alone. The last of his friends had died. The pain of that loss, the totality of it, was too much to bear.

  Then Cross remembered Rothenberg, and a burning hatred welled up in him. He welcomed that feeling, focusing on it—anything to take his mind off the pain. There were no words to describe what his father had stolen from Cross over long years of torment. But this theft Cross could not accept.

  Cross rose to his feet. He wanted so badly to just rush out the door and confront his father at last, something he had been unable to do for his whole life. But looking at the albino again reminded him that he still had a duty to fulfill. Their mission was yet unfinished.

  Cross walked over to the dashboard, and with a shaking hand flicked the switch. Breathing heavily, he looked out the nearest window. In the distance he could see the dark outlines of the bridges moving.

  The mission was over. The people of the City would survive. They had succeeded, and yet Cross could not bring himself to feel happy.

  Instead, as he continued to stare outside, Cross thought about the thousands of people who were now escaping. How many of them, he wondered, were even half as decent as the albino girl had been?

  Cross glanced again at her body, then swallowed and looked away. There was nothing he could do for her up here, no hope of a burial. He slammed his fist against a wall. The pain felt good, and so Cross did it again, and again. The tears streamed down his face so hot that they were nearly burning.

  Then Cross slumped against the wall that he had dented. For several long moments he remained like that, finding it hard to think, finding it blissful not to. Then his mind seemed to clear, and he found that cold hatred remained.

  Cross straightened up. The people of the City could now decide their own destiny, but his was yet unfulfilled. There remained one final challenge for him to overcome. He would have to face the demon of his childhood.

  Cross walked over to the door, opened it, and then stepped into the raging storm.

  * * *

  Rothenberg stood on the circular roof of the spire, arms raised, staring up at the angry clouds as the winds howled around him. He felt like he was on top of the world, and in a way he was. This peak was surely the highest anyone had ever stood over the City.

  There was a clap of thunder, and Rothenberg laughed with triumph. He had destroyed the ghost that had haunted his past—this proved that he was unstoppable, that fate was on his side. Through sheer tenacity, Rothenberg had outlasted all his enemies. No one had ever expected him to amount to much, and yet here he stood, while so many others had already fallen.

  The green glow from the floodlights cast Rothenberg’s face into relief. He had heard the new Mayor’s warning, and he knew that the City would soon be destroyed. He had come to terms with that. From here, he would be able to witness the final moments of what he had come to think of as one big Truancy City. It would all go up in flames with him on top, to watch over it all. A fitting end.

  Rothenberg lowered his arms. All that remained now was Cross. Fate had arranged everything so neatly for him, to have the boy show up here now. Rothenberg knew that he would come, if he was worthy.

  Minutes passed, and Rothenberg began to wonder if the boy had the nerve. Then a hand reached up over the edge of the roof, and Rothenberg smiled. The rest of Cross quickly came into view as the boy scrambled onto the roof, his red hair fluttering in the wind. Lightning streaked across the skies, and the two faced each other. The rain fell in sheets between them.

  Boy and man. Father and son. Student and Enforcer.

  For a moment they looked at each other through the storm.

  “That’s a good look you have on your face, Cross!” Rothenberg said. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to see that face—I thought it would never come!”

  Sure enough, Cross’ expression was pure hatred and determination. Not a trace of the fear that had always been there before.

  Cross shouted over the storm. “Shut up, you animal!”

  Rothenberg laughed.

&nb
sp; “Yes, I hated my father too!” he replied. “I finally see myself in you now, Cross! You’re just like me!”

  “I’m nothing like you, you—”

  “Yes, you are, Cross!” Rothenberg insisted. “I’ve made you like me! I’ve taken everything from you! Made you strong! Now, you’ve had my childhood!”

  There was another flash of lightning, followed by rolling thunder. Cross remained motionless as he stood there under the freezing rain.

  “I wondered if the day would come when you could stand up to me!” Rothenberg continued. “I waited forever for you to face me as a man! Now, you have the nerve! Now, you truly are my son!”

  Cross seemed to waver, and Rothenberg grinned widely.

  “Take a good look at me, boy! I am your future!”

  The wind blew hard at his back, yet Cross did not move from his spot.

  “I’m proud of you, Cross!” Rothenberg spread his arms. “Let us stand on top of this City together!”

  Rothenberg approached Cross. The boy’s head remained bent, his face cast into shadow by the green ambience around them. The winds seemed to screech louder than ever as Rothenberg came to a halt. The man bent down and tried to pull Cross into what would be their first hug.

  Cross took a step back.

  “You are no father of mine.”

  Startled, Rothenberg looked again at Cross. No longer did he see himself reflected there. There was only pity and sadness in that gaze. Weak emotions. Things he had fought his whole life not to feel.

  Without another word Cross turned around. Turned his back on his father. Rothenberg stood for few moments in shock. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. No words came, and so he just stared in silent disbelief as Cross walked back towards the ladder.

  Then the surprise wore off and the rage came. A roar ripped itself from Rothenberg’s throat. He charged, thinking only to plunge with his son all the way to the bottom of the City. Cross heard him coming. At the last second the boy stepped aside. He overshot his target.

  Lightning flashed. Rothenberg teetered on the edge of the spire. A powerful gust of wind swept over him. He fell.

  Cross watched impassively as Rothenberg was swept away into the storm, vanishing as a tiny speck against the dark streets below.

  Just like that, the man responsible for untold pain and misery in the City was gone. Cross’ encounter with Iris had made him question the notions of absolute right and wrong. However, he was now sure of one thing—if true evil existed in the City, then it had just fallen from the top of Penance Tower.

  Cross drew his knife and tossed it to the winds. It sailed away as the storm continued to rage around him. Cross considered what to do next. He searched his heart for purpose, and found it empty once again. In one fleeting moment, Cross considered jumping off the edge as well.

  Then he remembered the albino’s last word.

  Live.

  Cross backed away from the edge, realizing that his duty was not yet finished. He still had his teacher’s dying wish to cling to, and whether it meant a few hours or many years, he would do his best to uphold it for as long as he could.

  As Cross began to climb back down the ladder, he tried to remember what it meant to live. Fresh tears ran down his face, mingling with the rain as he remembered that things hadn’t always been as they were now.

  There were good memories in his past.

  There had been times when he was happy.

  When the City was still alive.

  37

  A HAPPIER TIME

  Cross kicked off the ground and watched the world whoosh by. His stomach fluttered—a tickling sensation. With a creak the swing swung forward, and Cross shut his eyes against the wind.

  Cross was on a playground in the Grand Park of District 20, alone on the swings. All around him, other children were going down the slides or jumping on the shaky bridge. All of it was being supervised by a low ranking Educator hired for just that purpose.

  Cross did not join in with the other kids—he never did. At age ten, he was the only child there without a parent. Perhaps more important, he was the only child there to avoid a parent. Cross had long since learned to take the subways by himself, and so he had fled here in the hopes that playing would make him feel better.

  The swing came to a rest. Cross sat alone, clutching the chains on either side. So far playing hadn’t made him feel better at all. He watched the other children spin happily on the carousel, some of them playing with their parents. It only made him feel more isolated. Lonely. Rejected.

  Cross couldn’t help it. He burst into tears. As he cried, Cross tried to be as quiet as possible. He knew adults didn’t like it when he cried loud.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Cross looked up, shocked at being addressed. Through his tears he saw a girl his age standing in front of him, uncomfortably close. She was staring at him with her head cocked, as though she were inspecting an alien.

  Cross blinked. “It’s n-n-nothing.”

  “Liar,” the girl said matter-of-factly. “My name is Floe, by the way. What’s yours?”

  “C-Cross.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cross,” Floe said. “Why were you lying?”

  Cross gulped. “I can’t talk about it, it’s … it’s about my d-dad.”

  “Oh, it’s all right to talk about parents,” Floe insisted. She pointed over to one of the benches where a brown-haired woman was watching with a frown. “See, that’s my mother.”

  Cross buried his face in his hands as he began crying again.

  “My f-father hit me,” he confessed. “I c-came here to g-get away.”

  Floe went quiet at that, and for a moment Cross was sure that she would leave now. Then she put her hands on her hips and frowned.

  “That’s not very nice of your dad,” she said. “Parents can be mean sometimes—I don’t like mine very much. That’s how parents are.”

  Cross just cried harder at that. Floe looked puzzled for a moment as she studied him. Then she seemed to light up.

  “You know what, when I feel sad a hug always cheers me up!”

  Floe took a step forward. Before Cross could realize what was happening, let alone mount an effective protest, the girl had pulled him into a hug.

  Cross’ first thought was to feel intensely embarrassed—no stranger had ever done this to him and Floe was a girl and weren’t boys and girls supposed to hate each other? Then, strangely, he began to feel warm and fuzzy. His tears dried up immediately. He stopped thinking altogether.

  Cross relaxed into the hug, his mind in a haze. Then it was over, and Floe withdrew. She looked at him.

  “See, it worked!” Floe said happily. “Are you from around here, Cross?”

  Trying to clear his head, Cross shook it.

  “No,” he mumbled. “I’m from District 18.”

  Floe clapped her hands together. “Hey, I am too! Maybe we can meet each other around there sometime.”

  Cross smiled tentatively. “That would be … nice.”

  * * *

  The first-floor corridors of the District 18 School bustled with quiet activity as students shuffled on to their next classes. These were elementary school kids, confined to the lower floors reserved for them. As the students walked to and fro, one of them paused right next to the door to the art room.

  Hung up on the wall were several pictures that the teacher had selected to represent the fourth-grade class. Cross looked up at one of the paintings—a rolling landscape of slides and carousels, surrounding a girl with brown hair. It was his work, painstakingly crafted after many periods of labor in the art room. Cross smiled. He was proud of it.

  Suddenly a voice spoke from behind.

  “Hey, that your painting, kid?”

  Cross looked up to see an older boy standing over him. His hair was wild and brown, his eyes matching it perfectly. The boy grinned roguishly, and his face seemed to sparkle with life.

  Cross gulped. He didn’t know this boy
personally, though he had sometimes seen him among the high school crowd leaving the building.

  “Yes,” Cross said timidly. “But, uh, aren’t we … you know…”

  The older boy bonked himself on the head with his fist.

  “That’s right, I forgot—no talking in the corridors.” He rolled his eyes. “Well it wouldn’t be the first time they caught me at it, so it’s no big deal. How about you just keep quiet while I talk?”

  Cross nodded, his lips sealed.

  “Cool. Anyway, I’m Red, from the eighth grade.” Red glanced at the painting. “That’s some awesome work right there. What’s your name, kid?”

  Cross pointed at his mouth and shrugged helplessly.

  “Right, I forgot again.” Red sighed. “That rule is ridiculous. All right, let’s see here…”

  Red leaned in close so that he could see the name inscribed on the cardboard plaque beneath the painting.

  “Cross?” he read.

  Cross nodded.

  “Well, Cross, good job.” Red straightened up again. “You’re probably wondering why I’m down here. I’m on my way to see a Disciplinary Officer now. I think they might actually be expelling me this time.”

  Cross gasped.

  “Yeah, guess it’ll be a life on the streets for me!” Red laughed. “Well, at least it’ll be less dull than life in here.”

  Cross privately disagreed. Red must’ve seen the look on his face, for he laughed. Then he reached out to pat Cross on the head.

  “Don’t worry, Cross. Go on and become someone,” Red said. “People like you have potential. Deadbeats like me aren’t meant to last, not in this City.”

  With another confident grin, Red waved good-bye and turned to walk away. The older boy vanished among the other students.

  Cross never saw him again.

  * * *

  In an empty lot of District 18, a girl tossed a ball to a boy. They were eleven years old. A few months ago the two children had found each other by chance on the streets, and they had been sneaking out of their houses to play ever since.

  As Cross received the ball, he felt that he must be the happiest boy in the whole City. He had never had a friend before, never had anyone to play with. It was difficult to describe his joy at finally knowing what he had been missing.