by Isamu Fukui
Floe, for her part, seemed delighted to have a playmate in the neighborhood. Cross threw the ball hard, and Floe laughed as she ran to catch it.
“That was a good one!” she said.
Cross smiled. For some reason he always felt delighted whenever he impressed her. Just then Floe hurled the ball, and it struck Cross right on the face. Cross felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment as the ball rolled out into the street.
“Sorry!” Floe clapped a hand to her mouth. “Are you all right, Cross?”
Cross nodded. The ball was inflatable. The only thing injured was his pride.
“Wait right there,” Floe said. “I’ll go get the ball.”
Not knowing any better, Cross stood where he was and watched her go. Floe ran out into the street, chasing the ball as it rolled along. Then Cross saw it—a red car coming fast down the street. Floe hadn’t noticed it yet, her attention still on the ball.
Without thinking, Cross broke into a run. He reached Floe just before the car did, shoving her safely out of the way.
There was a screech of tires, followed by a sudden impact. Cross felt himself get flung aside onto the pavement. For a moment he was dazed and confused. Then he felt a dull pain in his shoulder.
The car had stopped, but only briefly. Seeing Cross lying on the ground, the driver hit the gas pedal. The car accelerated fast down the street.
“You jerk!” Floe shouted at the retreating vehicle.
There was no response. A moment later, the car turned a corner and was out of sight. Floe stood there with balled fists, fuming. Then she looked down at Cross, and her expression turned to panic.
Cross quickly set her mind at ease.
“I’m all right,” he said, sitting up and smiling. “I think I just got bruised. My father hits harder than that.”
Floe brought a hand to her chest and let out a deep sigh of relief.
“You saved my life,” she said, breathless. “Why did you do that?”
Cross concealed the feeling of pride in his chest.
“It was nothing,” he mumbled.
Floe placed her hands on her hips.
“It’s not nothing, Cross,” she insisted. “I will pay you back, someday.”
* * *
Cross was in fifth grade. The whole school had been assembled in the auditorium for a special occasion. Cross had a seat near the door, and as the minutes dragged on he kept shifting his eyes to glance at it. The Mayor himself would be visiting their school, supposedly to administer some kind of award to the faculty.
Cross had never seen the Mayor in person before, though every citizen knew his face from television. Like the rest of the school Cross was nervous, but he was also curious. Teachers and Educators were authoritative enough—what would the Mayor himself be like?
As they continued to wait, the entire auditorium seemed to be on its toes. There was utter silence. Even the faculty seemed unusually subdued. Every preparation had been made to impress. The children were all in their best school uniforms, the teachers were wearing uncomfortable suits. Along the wall near the entrance, samples of the students’ artwork decorated the walls.
One of Cross’ drawings had been selected for that honor. The sketch hung nearby on the wall, a portrait of the Mayor himself standing larger than life over the City. Cross could see it out of the corner of his eye.
There was a hiss of static over the intercom, and the entire school sat a little straighter.
“Attention. Everyone please rise for his honor, the Mayor.”
As one, the entire auditorium got to its feet. A collective breath was held. Cross strained to watch the doors out of the corner of his eyes. They swung open, and the Mayor entered. He was a portly, aging man with a bowler hat. He seemed to be conversing with an aide—a man with brown hair and a mustache, holding a clipboard.
“No, cancel the meeting too,” the Mayor was whispering irritably. “Jack, I thought I told you I needed my schedule clear for the evening.”
The man named Jack scribbled furiously on the clipboard.
“Yes, sir, it was just a slight mix-up, easily fixed.”
“Good,” the Mayor huffed. “I’m not going to miss my sons’ birthday celebration for another accursed budget meeting.”
“Of course, Mr. Mayor.”
“All right then.” The Mayor sighed, stepping forward into the auditorium. “Now let’s get this little ceremony over wi—”
The Mayor paused, staring at the wall. With a pounding heart Cross realized that his picture caught the Mayor’s eye. The Mayor blinked at the portrait, and then he laughed and turned to Jack.
“This one is pretty good,” the Mayor said. “It suits me, I think. Make sure the kid who drew it gets a commendation.”
Jack nodded and jotted something quickly onto his clipboard. The two men then continued down the aisle towards the stage. Meanwhile Cross felt that he might burst with pride.
He never did receive a commendation, but that fleeting moment of recognition had been enough to convince Cross that the Mayor was a good guy after all.
* * *
Midsummer. They were twelve years old. The sun beat down hard from overhead. Cross and Floe were sitting together on the sidewalk, their clothes soaked. A broken fire hydrant shot jets of water into the air, the spray creating a rainbow effect. It seemed that half the kids in District 18 were in the street now, playing in the water.
It was a practice discouraged, though not expressly forbidden by the Educators. Cross and Floe had already had their fun, and now they were winding down in the shade as other kids took their turns.
Cross sighed. “I have to go home soon. My father is coming home this evening and he’s going to want dinner on the table.”
“He even makes you cook?” Floe asked, surprised.
Cross nodded. “I do all of the household chores.”
“That’s not fair.” Floe pouted. “It’s not right what that man is doing—maybe we should report him.”
Cross shook his head vigorously at that, splattering water everywhere like a dog.
“He’s an Enforcer, Floe,” he said. “It wouldn’t do any good, trust me.”
“If you say so, I guess,” Floe said reluctantly. Then she looked at him, still dripping wet. She plucked at his soaked shirt. “Are you going to be all right going home like this?”
“It’s fine,” Cross said, touched by her concern. “I’ll change and do the laundry when I get back.”
Floe nodded at that, then turned her head back towards the rainbow spray. As she did, it seemed to Cross that her attention was elsewhere, her eyes unfocused. He decided not to say anything. For several more minutes they remained like that, unspeaking.
Finally, Floe squared her shoulders and looked at him.
“Cross, we’re not going to be able to play anymore, soon,” she said. “My family is moving away, to District 2.”
With those words Cross felt a pain blossom in his chest—an unfamiliar sensation, and unpleasant. It was the first time he had ever experienced the pain of parting with a loved one.
“Are we ever going to see each other?” Cross asked.
Floe grinned at that. She patted him on the head with her open palm.
“Of course we will,” she said. “I still have a debt to repay, remember?”
Cross blinked. “Y-Yeah.”
“When we’re just a little older,” Floe said, “we’ll meet again, and we’ll still be friends forever.”
Cross smiled. Then he nodded.
“It’s a promise,” he said. “Just a little older.”
* * *
Three years passed. Open warfare broke out in the City. Cross was fifteen and in the Student Militia. He walked down a lonely street at night, his rifle at his side. The Truancy had just been pushed out of his area, and he had been assigned to patrol the streets.
The Educators had declared martial law here. No civilians, not even adults, were allowed out of their homes past curfew. Enforcers were sweeping e
ach block, looking for any Truant insurgents that might have been left behind. Meanwhile Cross and the rest of the Student Militia made sure the streets were clear.
Cross paused for a moment as he heard the sounds of a scuffle. There was a commotion in a nearby alley. He sighed, and decided to go check it out.
Inside the alley Cross saw a pair of Enforcers beating a girl with nightsticks. The girl was an obvious Truant—she was wearing street clothes and was out past curfew. As far as Cross could see she was unarmed, and was hardly a match for the men. She had curled up on the ground, shielding her head from the worst of the blows.
Cross’ first instinct was to just walk away. It was none of his business. Dealing with the Truants was the Enforcers’ job, and Edward didn’t like it when Cross thought for himself. And yet something kept Cross from leaving that alley.
Instead, Cross took a step forward and tried to get a better look at the girl on the ground. There was something familiar about her hair, her hands. Then she looked up at him, and Cross stopped in his tracks.
It was Floe. There was no mistaking that face.
“Hey, you!” Cross called out. “What are you three doing?”
The Enforcers paused, turning to look at Cross. There was a clear look of distaste on their faces. They hadn’t yet come to fully accept the Student Militia.
“What does it look like we’re doing, kid?” the first Enforcer said. “We’re apprehending a Truant.”
Cross looked at Floe. Their eyes met, and he could see a flicker of recognition on her face. Her expression was not pleading, but curious, wondering what he would do. Cross swallowed and turned to face the Enforcers.
“There must be a mistake,” he said. “I know this girl. What’s your proof that she’s a Truant? Was she carrying a weapon?”
The second Enforcer snorted.
“Of course she wasn’t,” he said. “She probably ditched it after the battle. But she was still carrying that.”
The Enforcer pointed at a red spray can on the ground. Then he gestured up at the alley wall. Cross looked up and saw an unfinished Truancy symbol painted up there—a T tilted clockwise, within a circle with the bottom right quarter missing. Cross frowned at the graffiti, thinking quickly.
“All right,” he told the Enforcers. “I’ll handle this from here.”
Both of the men stared.
“Listen, kid,” the first Enforcer said. “Rounding up the Truants is our duty. Who do you think you are, anyway?”
Cross stood his ground.
“I’m Cross, second in command of the Student Militia,” he said. “If you have any objections, I can bring the matter to Edward. He can settle this.”
It was a gamble. If word of this ever did reach Edward, Cross would be in for a world of hurt. The Enforcers, however, couldn’t possibly know that. Sure enough, the men looked at each other nervously.
“Ah it’s a waste of time anyway,” the second Enforcer spat. “Let the damn kid do the dirty work for us.”
The first murmured his agreement, and the two men turned to leave. When they were gone, Cross ran over to Floe and helped her to her feet. Floe’s clothing was dirty, her lip was bruised, but otherwise she seemed all right.
For the first time in years the two of them looked at each other up close. Both of their gazes were still wary. They each knew who the other was, and yet they didn’t know. So much had changed. It was Cross who spoke first.
“Floe,” he said. “Are you—are you really a member of the Truancy?”
Floe nodded, looking him up and down.
“And you,” she said. “Are you really second behind Edward?”
Cross nodded. Floe laughed bitterly.
“What a miserable irony this is,” she said. “The first time we’ve seen each other in three years, and it had to be like this.”
There was a heavy sadness in her voice. It tore Cross up on the inside just hearing it. He bowed his head. There was no way he could bring himself to betray her, even after all their time apart.
“You should get out of here quickly,” Cross said quietly. “You should be able to avoid the Enforcers if you stick to—”
“No.”
Cross looked up. Floe was looking at him with her hands on her hips.
“What?” Cross asked, confused.
“I’m not leaving, Cross.” Floe smiled faintly. “I still have a debt to settle, don’t I? Remember the promise we made?”
Cross was speechless. He felt a lump form in his throat.
Floe pressed. “Forever, remember?”
Slowly, Cross nodded. His voice was hoarse.
“Yeah,” he said. “Forever.”
38
THE END
The rain had stopped. The summer night was waning. Hours had passed since the bridges and tunnels of the City had opened for the first time in decades. The clouds overhead had begun to thin, though a faint dampness still clung to the air.
Across an old rail bridge, two figures ran as fast as their legs could carry them, the only ones who knew about this forgotten exit from the City. The rails were rusted and overgrown with weeds, and parts of the bridge were so rickety that a vehicle would probably never have made it across.
Thus the teenagers crossed on foot, glancing back once in a while at the City they were rapidly leaving behind.
“I wonder if Cross and that other girl got out all right,” Noni said.
Takan frowned. Iris’ folder was still tucked under his arm. The maps inside it had led them this far, and had also offered a glimpse of a world beyond the City so large that it had boggled their minds.
“I hope they did,” he said. “They’re real heroes for getting the bridges and tunnels open—more than we are, anyway.”
Noni nodded as she glanced at one of the main bridges in the distance. Tiny dark shapes were still moving over its surface.
“The evacuation seems to be going well,” she observed. “I think the crowds are beginning to thin out.”
“Most of the citizens must be out of the City already,” Takan agreed. “Iris bought us a lot of time. I wonder when the Government is going to catch on.”
They had no way to answer that, and so they kept running in silence. Then, just as they crossed the halfway point of the bridge, there was a familiar screech overhead. Takan looked up to see the black shapes of military planes streaking through the sky. The two jets seemed to be heading towards the nearest bridge.
Takan followed them with his eyes. “I wonder if those are on our—”
There was a flash in the distance accompanied by a booming sound. Takan heard Noni gasp as the bridge support blew up. The middle of the structure collapsed, quickly sinking into the river. Takan felt his heart sink with it.
“Not on our side after all,” he said. “The Government knows. They’re trying to seal off the City before the missile gets here.”
“What about the people still left in the City?” Noni said, horrified. “They’ll be defenseless! How can we—”
“Wait, look!”
Takan and Noni watched in awe as military antiaircraft guns fired up from the ground on both sides of the river. The planes broke off abruptly, evidently surprised that their own forces were shooting at them. Takan cheered as the fire crisscrossed the night sky, driving the jets away from the bridges.
Noni turned to look at Takan with wet eyes.
“Iris must have ordered her soldiers to protect the civilians,” she said.
“Yeah,” Takan said, feeling emotional himself. “Or maybe they’re just doing it because they know it’s right.”
The planes looped back the way they came, away from the guns on the ground, which seemed content to see them go. Takan and Noni stood where they were for a few more moments, watching. Then they noticed that the jets were now heading straight for them.
“I think we’ve been spotted,” Takan said. “Run.”
The two former Truants broke into a sprint, the rusted rails flying beneath their feet. They coul
d hear the screech of the aircraft drawing closer. The other side of the river was close now, but still too far away. Takan knew there was no way they were going to make it.
Then there was a flare of heat and pressure from behind. For a few moments Takan’s world was a confused mess of twisted metal and wooden splinters. He was hurled forward through the air, a roaring in his ears. Then he felt the ground crumbling beneath him, and for a brief terrible second he was falling.
Something stopped him. A hand, tightly gripping his own. Takan glanced down, and beneath him he saw chunks of the old rail bridge vanishing into a frothing river. Then he looked up, and saw Noni holding onto him with all her might. The look in her eyes was fierce and determined—the same look he had always loved.
For a few moments they stayed like that, staring at each other. Takan felt himself sway in the air. His grip began to slip.
“You can let go, Noni,” Takan whispered. “Let me fall. Take your revenge, like I did.”
The look in Noni’s icy eyes intensified. Rather that letting him go, she reached down with her free hand as far as she could. Stunned, Takan grabbed it. Noni braced her feet against the planks of the tracks, and grunted as she hauled him up.
Takan was pulled back onto what was left of the bridge, and then they both collapsed, breathing heavily.
“No,” Noni murmured at last. “I forgive you.”
Without thinking, the two of them embraced. Takan spared a glance up at the sky, where the planes were in full retreat, abandoning their mission. Idly he wondered how much of this Zyid had foreseen before his death.
For many minutes they remained in each other’s arms, unspeaking. Iris’ folder, miraculously untouched, lay a few feet away. The two teenagers knew that they had still time to spare before the missile struck, and they were sure that a brighter future awaited them outside the City.
So for now, after all they had suffered individually and together, they were content to be each other’s light in the darkness.
* * *
The City was deserted. From one corner of the island to the other, a gentle breeze blew through empty streets. Shepherded by the soldiers who, like Iris, had stayed behind, almost every inhabitant of the City had evacuated. Those few that remained, unwilling or unable to leave, made peace in their own ways. It was the calm before the storm.