Truancy

by Isamu Fukui

Zyid nodded solemnly, and then turned to leave. But this time, Tack was seized by a sudden madness and spun around to raise his gun, pointing it straight at Zyid’s back. Breathing heavily, Tack could feel his face muscles twitch. Zyid might’ve stopped walking at that point, but Tack couldn’t tell for sure. All he knew was rage. Dominating, blinding rage. It would be so easy. So easy. All he had to do was pull the trigger, and it would be all over. Thanks to Zyid himself, Tack knew the City better than anyone. He could avenge his sister’s death and vanish in seconds. It would be easier than so many of his other kills. That was why he’d joined the Truancy, wasn’t it? To kill this heartless murderer!

  Tack blinked, then looked at Zyid again. The leader of the Truancy was standing quite still, listening to Tack’s heavy breathing. Zyid made no move to run or turn around, but instead crossed his arms and waited. Tack struggled with himself for another second …

  Then exhaled loudly, dropping his gun and his gaze.

  Zyid didn’t say a word, didn’t turn around, but just walked away, leaving Tack shaking on the ground, supporting himself with his arms. Tack’s head was swimming, anger giving way to nauseating confusion. Why couldn’t he do it? Zyid had to die; Tack had known that ever since the day Suzie had died—so what was stopping him?

  “Don’t worry about it, Takan,” Zyid called back. “The loss of a comrade is always difficult to accept.”

  Tack didn’t know how long he had lain on the floor of that pizzeria, gasping as emotional spasms wracked his body. He didn’t cry, though he certainly felt like it. The confusion and chaos in his head overwhelmed him, and all thoughts of war or killing or death left his mind, and he could have sworn that he saw Suzie smiling at him. Then the vision was shattered as a warm hand rested on his shoulder.

  “Takan,” a voice called gently. “Takan, are you all right?”

  Tack looked up blearily, and saw a pair of icy blue eyes looking down at him concernedly. Tack shook his head violently and dropped his head to the ground, rubbing it against the floor as if it’d somehow relieve him of his painful confusion.

  “That’s not your blood, Takan,” Noni said softly, and Tack felt her hands probing his body. “You’re not hit anywhere. What’s wrong?”

  Tack froze at Noni’s touch. Of all the people to see him at his weakest, she was the last that Tack would’ve wanted. Her concern burned him, as if he knew he were unworthy of it. These latest worries took their place at the top of Tack’s pile of sanity, and then quite suddenly the whole thing came crashing down.

  “Everything’s wrong!” Tack wailed, thrashing wildly.

  Tack felt the pair of hands firmly restrain him, pressing him down to the floor. He opened his eyes and saw icy blue ones staring back into his own, and their unblinking stare seemed to calm his troubled mind. Noni held his gaze, and then cupped his face in her hands.

  “There are people counting on you, Takan,” Noni said clearly, and Tack found himself nodding weakly. “Don’t let us down.”

  Her words were like cool water dousing his feverish confusion, and with her help Tack shakily but determinedly returned to his feet. Tack steadied himself, and then felt his gun being replaced in his hand. Noni patted him gently on his back, and Tack realized that he didn’t feel confused anymore, but perfectly sober. Without any further interruptions, the two of them emerged from the pizzeria together, and both brought their weapons up switched to full automatic fire. The gun vibrated in Tack’s hands violently as it spewed out an endless stream of bullets, mowing down all the Enforcers that had just emerged from the smoke cloud and had been taken by surprise.

  Once the last immediately dangerous Enforcer had crumpled to the ground, Tack and Noni reloaded their weapons. Tack took the opportunity to look over to the west, where he saw a second cloud of white smoke rising into the air. The theater, by the looks of it, had already come under assault; dead Enforcers littered the ground around it, and determined Truants had barricaded themselves inside the box office. Noni grabbed Tack firmly by the arm and ran for the theater with him in tow. As they ran, Tack felt one of his loose shoes fly off, but he could hardly afford to pay it any attention.

  “Your side fell faster than we thought it would,” Noni chided gently as they drew closer to the theater. “We burned the barricades on our side, and that seems to be slowing them down a bit.”

  Tack looked westwards. Small gray plumes of smoke did seem to be rising behind the white cloud. As they reached the theater, the Truants inside the box office spoke into a walkie-talkie, and the doors were swung open to admit Tack and Noni by several waiting Truants. Soon afterwards, the Truants from the box office joined them, firing a few parting shots at some advancing Enforcers.

  “They know about the pipe bombs,” Tack cautioned, pointing at the cylinders by the doors.

  “I know.” Noni nodded. “Zyid told me. They’re expecting us to blow them up as they come in, so we’re going to roll one out instead. The moment the second fuse is lit, we head for the back entrance and retreat.”

  “Are we meeting back at the hideout?” Tack asked feebly.

  “Whenever we can, yes,” Noni said reassuringly. “This wasn’t a total loss, Takan. We got a lot more of them than they got of us.”

  “Yeah,” Tack said vaguely.

  “Help me with this,” Noni said, grabbing one end of the cylindrical concrete pipe.

  Tack grabbed the other end, and with one hand still on the pipe, Noni drew a lighter from her pocket and touched it to the fuse. Tack kicked the theater doors open, and in perfect sync Tack and Noni hurled the pipe bomb out into the midst of some wary Enforcers. Noni then touched her lighter to the second pipe bomb, and grabbed Tack’s arm before running. They heard the first pipe bomb explode, which quickly set off the second. Tack silently hoped that the blast would block up the entrance, but those hopes were not high.

  Still, the time it bought was enough, and they burst from the back doors and past the wreckage of Enforcer vehicles that indicated that the Enforcers had indeed tried sneaking up from behind through the minefields. As they ran however, Tack’s bare foot slammed carelessly against the side of a concrete brick, and Tack felt a sudden, persistent pain shoot through his foot. He limped around frenziedly, and looked down to see that the nail on his big toe had been nearly torn off, blood flowing from the wound.

  “Are you all right?” Noni asked worriedly. “That’s a hell of a way to get injured, out here of all places.”

  “I’ll live.” Tack gritted his teeth. “We don’t have much time; we’d better get going.”

  Tack looked up and met Noni’s gaze, seeing concerned apprehension there. Tack understood, and knew that Noni also understood, that they would both logically stand a better chance of survival if they split up. Still, it was only with the greatest reluctance that Tack tore his gaze from Noni and limped as swiftly as he could for a side alley on his own.

  * * *

  “Takan, Noni, you did well,” Zyid said, gazing out the storefront window of the flower shop, giving no indication that the incident with Charles had ever happened.

  It had taken Tack some hours to duck into a maze of back alleyways, through muck and filth, to shake off the Enforcers and return, on foot, back to the Truancy hideout. In the presence of both Zyid and Noni, Tack became very conscious that he was covered in grime and blood. Noni had been more fortunate, Tack had noticed; she had remained spotless, and was already waiting at the flower shop by the time Tack had stumbled in.

  “Takan got himself wounded, though,” Noni suddenly said condescendingly, tossing her braid behind her neck.

  “Oh?” Zyid asked, turning around.

  Tack could actually feel his face reddening. Noni was trying to embarrass him in front of Zyid, and apparently it was something that she was good at. Tack briefly wondered what had happened to the gentle, concerned Noni that he’d encountered during the battle.

  “It was barely anything,” Tack protested. “Just a stubbed toe.”

  “Yeah, right.�
�� Noni shook her head, her silky braid flailing in all directions. “Your entire nail was torn off.”

  “I’ve not heard of many deaths caused by toe injuries,” Zyid conceded, glancing down at Tack’s bloody foot. “However, you will be in for a nasty few weeks if it gets infected. I’m afraid that the few medics that know what they’re doing are tending to more grievous injuries, so Noni, would you mind?”

  Noni’s head jerked backwards. Tack allowed himself a grin. Her plan had certainly backfired.

  “No … not at all,” Noni said, narrowing her icy eyes to make her displeasure obvious.

  “Good,” Zyid said, his voice suddenly chilling a few degrees. “I knew that you would have no objections to helping an ally. Friends must look out for each other, correct?”

  Noni stiffened for a moment as she thought about it, then bowed her head.

  “Yes, sir,” she murmured.

  “I’d be a fool if I attempted to end all the petty rivalries and personal quarrels in the Truancy,” Zyid said, turning to look out the window again. “But that doesn’t mean that anyone is allowed to get carried away by any. If one of you ended up sustaining unnecessary suffering or death because of the other, I’d imagine that that culprit would be feeling rather unpleasant—even before I got my hands on him or her.”

  “I understand,” Noni said quietly.

  “Yeah, okay,” Tack said meekly.

  “Excellent. Now get healed and get some sleep. Everyone’s going to need some of that today.”

  Zyid clapped his hands behind his back, and Tack and Noni turned and left without another word. Walking next door, they entered through the revolving doors and strode over to a stairwell. Marching down to the basement, the two of them passed by a number of dimly lit rooms that had been converted to dorms and infirmaries, from which a tortured, heart-wrenching sound issued forth. Tack did his best to block out the crying and the moaning, and was only glad that there weren’t too many voices for him to ignore—badly injured Truants couldn’t be extricated from the battlefield. The only survivors were the ones who were well enough to make it back on their own. Still, judging from what Tack heard there in that basement, there weren’t as many casualties as he’d feared. But the fact that there were any at all showed that Zyid was far from perfect.

  Tack grimaced, an odd reaction to the memory of Suzie smiling at him. Yes, very far from perfect.

  “What’s wrong?” Noni asked, arching an eyebrow at Tack’s angry scowl.

  “Nothing,” Tack muttered, looking at her stony, emotionless face. How could she show such genuine concern earlier, and now tolerate the suffering around them with such cold indifference? How could anyone walk so casually while friends were screeching in agony around her? Remembering how cold-bloodedly he had seen Noni kill, Tack began to wonder what made her any better than Zyid.

  “If it’s the noise that’s bothering you, just ignore it,” Noni suggested, a strange look of pain flitting across her face. “Either they’ll get better or they’ll die—nothing you can do about it, nothing to be gained by letting them bother you.”

  “If you ended up like them, wouldn’t you want someone to be bothered?” Tack asked, glaring at Noni.

  “No,” Noni answered, after more than a moment’s pause.

  “So if I end up like one of them, you wouldn’t be bothered?” Tack asked.

  “I don’t see what makes you any different,” Noni said determinedly, looking straight ahead.

  “Well, wouldn’t you be concerned that someone else got to me before you did?” Tack asked, half-jokingly.

  Noni let out a bark of laughter.

  “You’re not that important, Takan.” Noni smiled and shut her dazzling eyes. “You got lucky and beat me once, but you’re not that important.”

  Tack and Noni continued walking through the corridor in silence, until they finally reached an empty nursery. They walked inside and Tack promptly sat upon a stool, raising his injured leg. Noni rummaged around in a supply cabinet before returning with a bottle of iodine and a bandage.

  “This might hurt a lot,” Noni said dispassionately, opening the bottle of iodine.

  “I can hardly wait,” Tack said, gritting his teeth.

  In truth Tack had probably felt worse, but the unique sting of iodine on an open wound is something that serves to erase all previous memories of suffering and literally causes pain like you’ve never felt pain before. Tack gritted his teeth and shut his eyes as it burned.

  “Good, you took that without screaming,” Noni said approvingly, spreading some sort of cream onto the bandage before crouching to apply it.

  “Thanks,” Tack said earnestly, as Noni stood up again.

  “You’re welcome,” Noni replied, sapphire eyes glinting. “Don’t get used to it, though. Next time, I’ll use acid instead of iodine.”

  Tack snorted. “Acid can’t possibly be much worse.”

  Noni shrugged. “Well, you can let me know how they compare.”

  “Well, now I’m really looking forward to getting myself injured again,” Tack said, his voice laden with sarcasm.

  “Not as much as I am,” Noni commented, walking out of the nursery as Tack tested his step. “Oh yeah, and Takan?”

  “Yes?” Tack looked up.

  “Take it easy.”

  Noni left the room, leaving Tack feeling considerably better than he had when talking with Zyid.

  19

  HIS MOST DANGEROUS STUDENT

  In the days after the Box Office Battle, as it had come to be called among the Truants, Tack began spending more and more time in Zyid’s abandoned flower shop. Zyid kept him close like some sort of bodyguard, though Tack personally found the position to be pointless. Zyid had decided that the entire Truancy needed something of a break in the aftermath of the battle, and even the steady flow of assassinations had subsided. Morale had been seesawing of late; they’d done significant damage to the Enforcers, and yet many Truants had perished defending the theater, some of whom Tack had known. Aside from Charles, Tack heard that Steve had been cut down by a grenade on the western front.

  Three days after the Box Office Battle, Tack sat cross-legged in one corner of the flower shop atop a moldy wooden crate that had once been filled with dried apples. Tack was grateful for the lull in the fighting, though he’d become so used to the constant action that he was actually growing bored. What really irked Tack was that he was alone in enduring this boring duty; Zyid no longer kept Noni around, and Tack found that he sorely missed her presence.

  To pass the time, Tack was practicing throwing darts at a board hung from one wall of the flower shop. As dart after dart buried itself in the bull’s-eye, Tack glanced at Zyid. Seemingly unconcerned with Tack, the Truancy leader was washing his hair in an old sink. Tack mechanically flicked his hand one last time, only to realize that he was out of darts. As Zyid began wringing his hair, his back turned to Tack, Tack was suddenly seized by an urge to whip out a real knife from his belt and hurl it at Zyid. Instead, Tack sighed and moved to retrieve the darts.

  Meanwhile, Zyid had calmly finished drying his hair and now began to comb it violently. As Tack pulled the darts from the board, he noticed that Zyid’s comb would get stuck when it encountered a particularly tangled knot of hair. Zyid retaliated by pushing the comb harder, until the hairs snapped and clung to the comb. Tack returned to sit on his crate, fingering his bandaged toe idly for a few minutes,

  Tack looked up at Zyid. His head was beginning to return to its customary smooth and sleek state. But he couldn’t notice the amount of hair that had been sacrificed during the grooming, and now what seemed like a painful effort was starting to pay off. Tack stroked his own hair lightly, wondering if Zyid really thought it was worth the trouble.

  “Doesn’t that hurt at all?” Tack asked suddenly.

  “The comb?” Zyid said as a few more hairs snapped. “It’s not as painful as you think it is. If you comb hard enough, the comb weeds out the weak, unruly hairs.”

  Z
yid paused, took a strand of broken hair, and examined it. Then he grasped either end and tore it apart.

  “There are no nerves in hair,” Zyid explained. “Otherwise I’d be using haircuts in interrogations.”

  Tack forced a weak laugh. Zyid may have been joking, but Tack knew that he was deadly serious as well.

  “So what are we, the comb or the hair?” Tack asked, feeling unusually philosophical.

  Zyid looked at Tack with mild surprise. “We’re neither, Takan.”

  “Then what are we?”

  “The hand.”

  One of Zyid’s eyes twitched as he shoved the comb through the last resistant patch of hair. With that regimen finished, he put the comb down and retied his hair into his customary ponytail.

  “I will be absent for a while.” Without another word, Zyid left the room, leaving Tack once again unsettled.

  Tack frowned. Zyid always had a way of unnerving him. Lately he was feeling emptier and more confused than he had ever been in his entire life. The deaths he’d caused and witnessed were beginning to trouble him worse than ever. He was seeing blood and bodies now. Whenever he closed his eyes, he heard screams and explosions in his sleep, and he couldn’t forget the look in an Enforcer’s eyes before he died. But what troubled Tack even more was why, having killed so many others, he couldn’t just kill Zyid and be done with it. Tack shut his eyelids. He wasn’t so sure of anything anymore. It was a terrible feeling, to be doubting everything, especially himself.

  Seized by a sudden, wild idea, Tack sat up and opened his eyes. Checking his watch, he realized that he’d have time. The battle was over, Zyid was gone, and no one would be looking for him for a while. They’d probably assume he’d be getting drunk somewhere. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

  Tack got up and went for the door.

  He had a sudden craving for lemonade.

  * * *

  “The investigation has concluded that the movie theater was not, in fact, their main hideout,” a cabinet member informed the irate Mayor.

  The Mayor groaned. He had waited three restless days in his office, just to hear this confirmation of what he’d already feared from the moment the initial reports had come back from the battle.