Z 2134

by Platt, Sean

  “They’re hurting them,” Ana said, defending not just Michael — who didn’t deserve to be beaten for helping her — but also, to her surprise, Liam, even though he had started the fight.

  “Yes, but they’ll kill you, Anastasia.”

  How does he know my name?

  She looked closer at the man. He was dressed just like anyone else in the bar, a working man’s unofficial uniform: plain blue jeans and a button-down, long-sleeve gray shirt. Nothing fancy or which stood out enough to impress the few women mingling in the bar.

  Yet he seemed strangely familiar.

  “Trust me,” he said.

  A shout of, “Let go of me!” — though Ana couldn’t tell if it was Liam or Michael since it was slightly higher pitched than either guy’s normal tone — pulled her attention back to The Watchers as they slapped black cuffs on Michael and Liam, roughly lifted both men to their feet, and marched them out the door.

  Ana turned back to the man.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “They’ll book them as drunks then let ’em out in the morning.” He shook his head. “Unless one of them does something stupid. I’m sure Liam won’t do anything stupid. He’s been through the system a few times and knows how, and who, to charm when he needs to. How about your guy?”

  So he knows Liam. He’s one of The Underground, I’ll bet.

  Figures.

  Ana screamed, this man now the new target of her anger. “I dunno, but he didn’t deserve this! He was standing up for me against that drunk!”

  The man opened both hands, waving them downward. “Keep it down, will ya?” His eyes flitted to the bar. Ana followed his gaze. Two Watchers were still in the bar, questioning patrons. One of the officers stood by the door, turning away two men trying to leave.

  “They’re gonna question all of us,” the man said, clearly frustrated. “I suggest you stick to what happened and try to stay calm. Don’t mention your father unless they mention him first. Of course, once they get your name from your chip, they’ll know who you are and link you to Jonah. So, whatever you do, don’t lie. They’ve got scanners in their helmets to see if you’re telling the truth.” He cleared his throat as though it add a layer of importance to his words. “You have to tell them the truth.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Just do what I say. Go sit and wait for them to come to you. I’ll catch up with you, soon as I can.” The man turned, walked toward the bathrooms, then disappeared into the men’s room.

  Ana looked around, noticing one of the men at the bar talking to a Watcher and pointing at her.

  She returned to her table and sat, sipping her sugar water and dreading her looming interrogation.

  On the wall, a ubiquitous City Watch poster, just like those that lined the city streets, the factories, and shops asked, “Do you REALLY know your neighbor? Watch. Listen. Report.”

  “What happened?” The Watcher asked from behind his mask.

  Ana spoke to the guard, thinking of the man whose name she didn’t know and the advice she couldn’t ignore: tell the truth.

  Ana did, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything she said was being monitored for honesty and would probably be fed to someone in a room somewhere, or maybe recorded and added to her existing data log, to somehow, in some unknown way, be used against her someday. She remembered, as a child, taking a tour of The City Watch Tower and seeing room after room filled with computers and monitors, with Watchers observing camera feeds from the streets, from the woods, from the sky orbs, and even from within people’s homes. No doubt there were also rooms devoted to watching the feeds from The Watchers’ helmets.

  “Did Liam say why he thinks your father is innocent?” The Watcher asked.

  Ana was frozen under the question’s weight, wondering if telling the truth would lead to trouble for Liam. If he were part of The Underground, which she only suspected but didn’t know, he could be held and tried as a traitor. She had to be careful not to get him into more trouble than his mouth had already managed to get him into.

  “Hell if I know,” she said, allowing her anger to surface just enough to shift the conversation. “He was drunk. He’s always been a drunk since he could buy alcohol. He’s always trying to antagonize me. I’d say he’s trying to get in my pants, but again, you’d have to ask him why he’s such a prick.”

  She’d hoped to elicit a laugh from behind the helmet’s dark glass, but nothing but silence surfaced from behind the keeper’s visor.

  “OK,” he said, finally standing. “Thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions. You’re at Chimney Rock, correct?”

  “Yes,” Ana said. “Except when I’m working at the shirt factory, six in the morning to six in the evening, all days but Sunday.”

  “OK then,” The Watcher said, then turned from the table and walked away, leaving Ana alone with a bottomless sigh.

  She hoped nobody would smell her deception and return to the table. She couldn’t go to jail. If Ana went to jail, who would care for Adam? She continued sipping her sugar water until the last of The Watchers finally left.

  The Social went back to normal, with people drinking to forget, to celebrate, and a few, she suspected, just to get through the day so they could wake up tomorrow, start over, and pretend their way through the same shit again.

  Though she was of drinking age, Ana had never touched alcohol. But as she sat alone at the table, wondering whether Michael was OK and worrying she might have gotten Liam into worse trouble, she started to see its appeal. She looked at Michael’s half-full drink; red, like her sugar water, but alcoholic. She forgot what he’d called it when he ordered — a Red Bomb, she thought. She looked around the bar still feeling every eye on her, although not a single one was. Most of the people were watching the replay of Darwin Games highlights before the network went back to a live stream.

  She reached across the table, grabbed the glass, then lifted Michael’s drink to her lips, resting it just under her nose and wincing at the strong blend of fruity and pungent.

  How do people drink this stuff?

  She looked through the glass, marveling at the deep crimson, much deeper than her own drink, which was almost pink, diluted by the slivers of melting ice. Michael’s drink was so dark it looked like blood. She dared a sip, then nearly spit the sip back into the cup. If Ana was alone she would have, but if she spit, onlookers would laugh, so she swallowed the bitter liquid, then set the glass back on the table and pushed it to the other side.

  Wow! That tasted like cat piss!

  “You have to swallow faster,” a voice behind her said.

  She turned to see the old black man again, motioning toward the chair.

  “May I?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Ana nodded, feigning indifference, which she figured was better than seeming too eager, or too easy a mark. That was one of the lessons her father taught her long ago, back before whatever turned him into a monster had done its dark work.

  “You have to watch out for opportunists,” her father had said. “They’re always around, and always have an angle. Disarm them by never letting them know you’re interested in their pitch.”

  “My name is Duncan,” the old man said. “I’d shake your hand, but I prefer not to draw any glances to the fact that we’re just meeting.” He winked, but there was nothing untoward in it.

  She folded her arms across her chest, “Well, you already know my name, it seems. Wanna tell me how?”

  “I knew Jonah,” he said.

  Ana resisted the urge leave The Social that second. “So, what, does that mean you’re with The Underground?”

  “Well, we don’t go around calling it that, especially in mixed company,” he said, eyes again flitting around the bar. “But, yes. And let me tell you, Anastasia, you don’t want any more attention from City Watch. What did you tell them?”

  “The truth, like you said.”

  “What did they ask?”

  She told h
im.

  Duncan nodded.

  “So,” she asked, “did I get Liam in trouble?”

  “Probably no more than he usually gets himself in. That boy is too reckless.”

  “No shit,” Ana said.

  Duncan burst out laughing, surprised by either Ana’s candor or choice of words.

  “You’re a lot like him, you know.”

  “Like Liam?”

  “Well, him too. But no, I meant your dad.”

  She ignored the compliment, assuming it was one. “So, how did you know him? My dad. Was he with you all?”

  “Yes,” Duncan said. “But we met when we were both on City Watch.”

  Ana nodded. “And what, you think he’s some sorta hero or something?” She tried to keep from rolling her eyes.

  “I don’t think he did what you think he did, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I saw him do it,” Ana said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. This was the first time she’d told anyone other than Michael, Adam, or the law what she’d seen. “Though I do love how everyone thinks they know better than me.”

  “You’ve gotta understand: people looked up to your father, and most who know him can’t believe he would ever kill your mother.” Duncan shook his head. “He wasn’t that sort of man. He loved her. He loved you, and your brother.”

  Ana looked down because she couldn’t keep looking into Duncan’s eyes without wanting to cry. “You think I wanna see him that way?” she said. “He was my dad. He was the world to me. But I was there, and I saw what he did. And I see it every time I close my eyes. And anyone who says he is innocent is calling me a damned liar.”

  Duncan smiled, a hint of sympathy like a shadow in his eyes, as if he were talking to someone too stupid to understand what he was saying.

  Ana grabbed the Red Bomb and took a long gulp, swallowing without tasting, then slammed the empty glass on the tabletop a bit louder than she’d intended. The alcohol was awful, but she hoped the burn in her throat would numb the pounding in her head.

  She stood to leave.

  Duncan said, “You’re not a liar, but you are lying.”

  “What?” she said, her voice rising in pitch while climbing an octave. Before Duncan could answer, Ana decided she didn’t care what he had to say. “Just leave me alone.”

  Ana rose from the table and headed toward the exit before Duncan could issue another word. She pushed through the doors and stepped into the bustling, frigid City street, crowded with walkers and carts and the omnipresent City Watch orbs; floating, watching, forever monitoring the streets for any sign of dissent or crime.

  Somewhere above the towering buildings on either side of the wide street, the pale moon was waking from its slumber. Ana stared enviously at the lit windows along the upper floors of the apartments across the street, wondering if she’d ever see the inside of something so nice.

  Of course, not. Girls of my station can only dream…or marry into that kind of life.

  The City’s upper floors were reserved for the powerful and the wealthy, never the commoners. And now that she was the daughter of a convict, no man of wealth, power, or even a decent reputation would ever be seen with a girl such as her. Hell, she was surprised that Michael still spoke to her, though she suspected he was nursing a crush and was too shy to admit it. Like her, too unsure of her feelings to ever do so herself.

  When her father was arrested, her friends suddenly distanced themselves as if her condition were contagious. All but Michael had left her side. She couldn’t risk her last remaining friendship by introducing romance into the equation.

  Ana was so caught up in staring above and thinking about Michael that she never saw the crash coming until they were both spilling toward the ground in opposite directions. Ana was startled, but even more surprised when she realized that her collision was with one of the older men from the bar — the one with the light-red beard who had been standing beside Liam and had given Michael a helping hand up.

  Red Beard offered his hands and helped Ana to her feet. She accepted, a cool confusion through her body as she felt him slip something that felt like folded paper — maybe a message? — inside her hand before closing her fist around it.

  He whispered, “Wait until you’re out of sight.”

  He then fell a step back, cleared his throat, tipped his head, and in a louder voice said, “Sorry, Miss, all my fault. I should really watch where I’m going.”

  “Oh…OK,” Ana said, slowly shaking her head, confused, wondering what he’d slipped into her hand, but also hyper aware of the orb 20 feet above, humming, watching, and likely recording their every move and word.

  She tucked the folded paper into her pocket and briskly walked away, eager to find a spot far from the prying eyes of City Watch so she could read the message.

  CHAPTER 3 — Anastasia Lovecraft

  Ana raced home, though she could never, and would never, consider Chimney Rock home.

  Her home — the one she grew up in, an apartment on a middle floor just uptown — was seized by The City when her father was found guilty. She’d been staying with her little brother, Adam, thinking that she’d be allowed to raise him until they were both of age. She was close enough to 18 that Ana believed she’d be allowed to stay, or at least be given the chance to find a cheaper place.

  The City Court decided otherwise.

  She and Adam were shipped to the orphanage, where they would stay until she was 18, at which point she could petition for custody, provided she was able to care for him in full. If not, Adam would stay at the orphanage until he was 18, unless he joined City Watch, which he could do a minute after his 15th birthday. For a kid like Adam, on the painfully shy side, with a slight learning disability, a City Watch career was a long shot, and a painful life of misery a near certainty.

  Watchers came into their house the day after the trial and said it was time to go.

  Just like that, The Watchers started stripping stuff from their house, starting with their paintings — the ones Ana’s mom made when she was little. Even though they got to keep every memory, of which there were many, City Watch tore the paintings from their hooks and carried them into the hallway, handing them to a waiting line of police, who moved them to the elevator.

  “What are you doing?” Ana cried. “Those are ours!”

  The Watcher closest to her explained that they could each take two personal items. Everything else belonged to The City and would be auctioned to pay for the trial and their care at the Orphanage.

  Though Ana would have loved to keep something from her mother, or one of her few childhood toys, she took nothing. She wasn’t sure what the orphanage would be like, but if it was as bad as the kids in school whispered it was, she wanted no weakness to enter the walls with her. Her something of value was a bull’s-eye for another.

  Ana would never give anyone that sort of power over her.

  Adam was different, though. A sensitive kid even before their lives went to hell, he would need reminders of his past to carry him through.

  It was hardest on Adam when they took his books — relics from Before, which his father had collected and read to them both, but which Adam had taken a deeper interest in. Books were the only thing Adam had ever taken an interest in. He would spend hours lost in the old stories, so their father spent even more time, money, and general attention building their collection and giving Adam something he could call his own.

  As City Watch invaded their reservoir of treasured words, Adam tangled himself in sudden tears, scuffing his knees as his heart broke against the floor, begging the two Watchers in the tiny library to please let him keep some of his books.

  “I have nothing,” he sobbed. “My mom is dead and my dad is in prison. Please.”

  “No way, kid,” one of The Watchers said with a shake of his dark helmet. “These will fetch decent credits at auction.”

  Adam cried out, grabbed the box from one of The Watchers, then turned to run away, though clearly he had no
where to go and hadn’t thought out his actions.

  The Watcher reached for his stick, and Ana screamed, “No!”

  She thrust herself between the two Watchers and Adam, who was clutching his box of books and crying.

  “He didn’t mean anything, officer,” she said, staring into herself reflected in the man’s black glass mask. “He’s been through a lot, and this is all he has. Please don’t hurt him.”

  She didn’t cry, though she wanted to. She had to be strong for Adam.

  Both Watchers were silent.

  Ana turned to Adam, “Please, just give them the box,” she said. “I promise, I’ll get you more books the second that I’m able.”

  She thought Adam would cry or argue, or point out that she couldn’t possibly afford to buy books, but his eyes met hers, and she could tell that he was afraid of The Watchers. Once they pulled out their sticks, they could probably do whatever they wanted.

  Adam handed the box to Ana so slowly that she thought he might change his mind, and then she handed it to the nearest of the two Watchers.

  The Watchers continued to say nothing, just stood there with their faces invisible behind the black glass. Ana was certain Adam had pushed things too far — The Watchers would be forced to respond by making an example of him. Rarely did Watchers allow a citizen to usurp their authority.

  She looked into The Watcher’s mask, her eyes pleading. “Please,” she begged. “He didn’t mean anything. He’s harmless, I swear.”

  The keeper looked down into the box of books, reached in with his black gloved hand, and pulled out two, then handed them to Adam and left without a word.

  Thinking of the moment, and the anonymous Watcher’s kindness, always sent Ana near to tears.

  That was the last day they lived in a place someone could rightly call a home.

  Chimney Rock was one of the largest buildings in The City, and maybe the ugliest. With a dark brick exterior, iron bars on every window, 30 stories, a large set of black iron double doors that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds each, and the spiraling chimney that twisted to nowhere and gave the dungeon its name, the outside of the orphanage was the stuff of nightmares.