Renegades

by Joanne Sexton

  Renegades

  By

  Joanne Sexton

  COPYRIGHT 2017 Joanne Sexton

  All characters; events and establishments in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author.

  Cover Design by: Southern Stiles

  2086

  Artinean

  A war rages between Government troops and a band of renegade militia.

  A city is ravaged by death, destruction and the thirst for ruling power.

  No-one enters. No-one leaves.

  What remains is Gangland.

  1

  Ryan

  “How many, Simmo?”

  “Three, Captain.”

  “You don't have to do that.”

  “Sorry, Ryan. Do you want me to take them out?”

  “No, let’s see what they want first.”

  Ryan peered through the night vision goggles his friend and lieutenant had vacated. Just outside the perimeter, through their makeshift, ancient barricade, he could see the rubber-suited troops as they tested their defence line. They strategically sought a place to break through the antiquated electrified fence. He stepped back to allow Simmo access again.

  “So do you want me to take them out? They’re not wearing helmets, cocky bastards.”

  “No, let them go. They won’t get through.”

  Simon – Simmo – Jamison glanced at Ryan, his youthful yet weathered face scowling in disappointment. Sniper shooting government troops was sport to him.

  “You’re no fun,” he grumbled and returned his eyes to the goggles. “They’re leaving. That’s the third time this week.”

  “Yeah, well, they can keep trying. Hicks fixed all the weak spots. Come on, let’s go eat.” Ryan motioned to the young guard waiting to return to his post. “Nichols, let me know if they come back.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes; he still couldn’t get used to the ridiculous need for a hierarchy. It made him feel old and he was far from it at twenty-four. He stooped to exit the lookout bunker with Simmo following close behind. The space being small and claustrophobic, Ryan spent as little time as possible in the domed rooms.

  He proceeded down the dark corridors leading to the mess hall. Simmo mumbled something Ryan couldn’t quite decipher, but guessed it was probably a gripe about not being able to use the sniper rifle secured to his back.

  As they drew near the end of a succession of concave dirt-walled tunnels, the glow and din from the refectory guided their way. They ascended the ladder into the large, stark room to find it, due to the late hour, only half full.

  After collecting their rationed meal, they located a table in the corner. Ryan, out of habit, surveyed the space as he ate. There were various eclectic groups scattered around, mostly consisting of ‘soldiers’ or couples.

  Occupants of the compound, particularly the women and children, all had the pasty look of those who barely saw the sun. Going aboveground was too dangerous. Although allotted protected time each week, they still didn't see enough sun. Only the ‘soldiers’ left the grounds to scavenge.

  Ryan silently reminisced about a time when things were different, when he had a family.

  “Hey, Taylor, are you listening?” Simmo broke into his reverie.

  “What?”

  “Are we going out tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, we should, supplies are getting low.”

  Simmo studied him with curious dark eyes. “What’s up?”

  “I’m tired of fighting. I want a normal life again.”

  “Normal? No way, I’d miss the sport. So would you. We’ve been fighting since we were teenagers, Ryan,” Simmo said with a smirk between mouthfuls of food, shovelling it in like he didn't know when his next meal would come.

  The crazy part was that it could happen one day.

  Ryan shrugged. “I suppose. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”

  “Are you telling me, if you ran into Edwards, you wouldn’t kill him?”

  “You know I would.” Ryan clenched his jaw and flashed hate- filled eyes at Simon. “It would give me immense pleasure to kill his whole family.”

  “That’s more like it. I thought you were becoming a pussy.”

  “Are you going back out on lookout tonight?”

  “Absolutely. If those pricks come back, it’ll be lights out.”

  “Make sure you rest tomorrow, we’ll leave at dusk again.”

  Simmo gave a curt nod, retrieved his rifle from the table, and strode off. Ryan knew the compound was safe with his tall, lanky friend on watch.

  He dropped both their trays off to the teenagers on kitchen duty before descending the ladder with the intent of turning in early. The strain of being in command of the militia wore on him.

  With his head bowed, he strolled through the low roofed tunnels towards his quarters. Being tall was one of many drawbacks associated with underground life.

  Entering the solitude of his sanctuary was a welcome relief. He bolted the door to ensure he remained alone.

  A small sitting room populated with old, tattered furniture discarded by citizens of Artinean, obtained during one of their scavenger hunts, was one of three rooms he considered home. The couch, in brown velvet, although patched and missing a leg, and thus propped with bricks, was comfortable and long enough for him to stretch out on. A small coffee table with scattered ring marks sat in front of the couch, its edges notched and dented. A bookshelf lined one wall, spilling over with dog-eared, spine-scored books, his only form of education and entertainment.

  The room was separated from his bedroom by a sheer red curtain, which Ryan pushed aside as he entered carrying one of his favourite novels. His bed was a generous, reasonably clean mattress on the floor; a down quilt and one crisp black sheet his only bedding. He was thankful for the shared industrial laundry that facilitated the upkeep of clean linen.

  Beside the bed sat a thick square of oak, also with legs of brick and covered in the same red curtain, serving as a table. The only light, ancient oil lamps, was ventilated by a fan in the ceiling which was actually the ground above. His only window into the outside world was a clear PVC skylight.

  The year might be 2086, but the renegades, as the government named them, saw little technology. They lived amongst relics and antiques. Their one source of modern technology was a hand-held comp-phone. It was their only form of communication with each other, and also the rogue gangs tempting fate on the outside.

  Ryan leaned over, illuminated the lamp on the table, and opened his book to the folded page. Reading usually relaxed his mind and readied him for sleep.

  Three men approached the fence and tested it again. Armed with tree branches, they systematically threw them against sections of the seven-foot electrified fence. One after another, repeatedly looking for a weak spot, somewhere they could sever the wire.

  Simmo understood, if they were to find such a deficiency, they would return with their army, send in someone to disable the fence, and horror would ensue. As much as he loved to fight and kill government troops, the thought of the innocent people they protected coming to harm turned his blood cold. He shivered. Hopefully Hick’s maintenance would suffice.

  The only factor appeasing his fear was the knowledge that the entire perimeter was being watched by four identical manned bunkers around the compound. If a man breached, he could be shot down the moment he crossed the border. It would be
a difficult shot due to the others’ armour, but all lookouts would do their best to defend the weak spots. The only problem was, the leaders out there would send another. It would then only be a matter of time before the defences came down.

  Part of Simmo hoped they would get through, and then he’d have an excuse to shoot. He cursed. This time the enemy wore helmets. It wouldn’t be as easy to get a decent shot in.

  As the thought left his mind, he watched with glee when a branch struck without a revealing spark. They’d found a weak spot in the fence.

  The three armoured troops deliberated, and Simmo readied his rifle. He kept them in sight as one of them, who he guessed to be the senior member, nominated another for something. The nominated officer shook his head; he didn’t want to do it. After several moments of what looked to be a heated exchange, the trooper picked up the branch, and reached up to the spot they had just tested.

  Simmo viewed his expression through the scope, and grinned. The trooper braced himself for the shock. When it didn’t come, he turned to his superior officer, who indicated again. The trooper removed his helmet, and Simmo sighed out the joy of a free head shot.

  Now it was his turn to deliberate.

  The trooper pulled a laser cutter from his belt.

  Cursing again, Simon moved his scope from the head shot, knowing full well that Ryan would want him alive. He aimed at the small vulnerable point below the armpit where, if the soldier lifted his arm, a gap would appear, the only one within the full body armour worn by the ironically named Government Army Patrol - GAPs.

  He waited. His entire body tense. Simmo’s capacity to remain still and patient, waiting for the right shot, was why he was the best sniper in the militia.

  The moment came as the trooper reached up to cut the wire above his head.

  His aim, perfect as always, struck gold and the GAP went down on one knee. As the other two drew weapons, Simmo fired a few pointless shots into their armour as a warning, with the aim that they would retreat, leaving the downed soldier behind.

  He wasn’t disappointed.

  Raised voices and a scuffle outside his door broke through the haze of drifting sleep. Ryan sat up quickly. His book fell, thumping onto the rug covered dirt floor.

  What the hell was going on?

  2

  Mackenzie

  Ryder hogged the bathroom as usual. Mackenzie groaned in frustration. Her brother was going to make her late. She thumped on the door again.

  “Hurry up, Ryder.”

  A mumbled response indicated she was in for a wait. She would shower after breakfast. On warm, well-worn slippers she padded down the hall to the kitchen to find it empty. Her mother, Astor, had left for work already.

  “Lights,” she prompted, and was rewarded with illumination. “Coffee.”

  A machine on the counter to her left gurgled its response in the spacious, modern kitchen. Within moments the pleasant aroma greeted her. Collecting her mug, she spoke her way through preparation of breakfast consisting of cereal and toast.

  Although their voice automated house was convenient, Mackenzie thought it pretentious. One of the perks of being the family of a deceased government official: a fully loaded house in ‘Cherrywood Estate’. Of course, having her brother, Cody, serving as a general in the army also helped.

  Ryder shuffled into the kitchen, chestnut curls ruffled. He mumbled a command, eliciting no response.

  “You have to actually speak to get it to work, Ry.”

  “Coffee,” he repeated.

  The machine gurgled again.

  “Are you going to see Cody today?” she asked.

  “Yeah, new recruit training starts next week. Cody wants me to start then.”

  Taking the mug from the coffee machine, he wrapped his hands around the warmth, and blew on it to cool it.

  “Do you really want to join?”

  He shrugged.

  “Don’t let him pressure you, okay?”

  “There isn’t really much else to do, is there?”

  Since the war against the renegades began, universities had closed to encourage all men to join the army after high school. Ryder had graduated the previous year, but had been dragging his feet for months about whether he would join their older brother. The last thing he wanted to do was conform.

  None of them actually wanted to. Many of the policies, such as this one, didn’t bode well for Mackenzie, but unless she became a renegade, there was no other choice. She understood why so many rebelled against order and the restrictions placed upon them. However, the rebels’ inhumane methods and war mongering ways weren’t the answer.

  Thousands of people had suffered because of the rebels’ stubbornness, including her family, who had lost a husband and father in Matthew. Their brother insisted the war wouldn’t end until the last of the rogues were imprisoned and the rebellion disbanded. So the government recruited and protected.

  “You could join the party, start as a junior politician. Maybe when the fighting is over, you can study what you want then. This is the only way to get the opportunity to learn a trade, you know that. It can’t go on for much longer. Cody told me there was only one compound of renegades left. If they stop them, the gangs will disband and order will return.”

  “Order … you sound like Cody.” Ryder spat the words out and the ferocity surprised her. “Is that what we really want?”

  “It has to be better than living behind fences.”

  Cherrywood Estate might have all the luxuries of the modern world, but it was still a prison as far as Mackenzie was concerned. The tall, laser fence surrounding homes might serve as protection, but they also made her feel like a caged animal.

  Ryder shrugged. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

  “Oh, yes! I’ll see you tonight.”

  Ryder was immersed in the latest music on the ridiculously large television when Mackenzie left for work twenty minutes later.

  Never being overly concerned about her appearance, it took her little time to ready herself. Her long dark hair was twisted up into a simple knot and she wore no make-up apart from a little gloss. Enhancing her large hazel eyes and smooth olive skin only drew unwanted attention from the rogues that roamed the streets. Leaving the estate was scary enough without being accosted.

  The government building where she worked was a short distance away and, under normal circumstances, Mackenzie enjoyed walking to work each day, but instead the idea of setting off on foot filled her with dread now. Having no form of transport meant she had to travel everywhere on foot. Not that she went anywhere except work.

  The heavy knot of anxiety hanging in her chest caused her heart to thump as she approached the large looming perimeter fence. It hummed as she used her barcode identity to open the gate.

  BIT’s, as they were referred to, was a tattooed code on the inside of every citizen’s wrist and was the only way to gain entry or exit from compounds, buildings and vehicles. It was also the only means of payment for goods and services. Everything a citizen did was recorded via the use of the barcode and all purchases instantly logged against their monetary ledger. Money didn’t exist in Artinean, merely earned credits serving as payment for wages and in turn used for living expenses. They lived in a paperless world.

  Once the laser gate dissipated, Mackenzie inhaled and peered out to check the street, finding it empty. She let out a relieved breath. On occasion going to work could be dangerous, yet it wasn’t as risky as coming home in the dusk. Regardless, it always paid to check. Government troops patrolled the streets, but they weren’t always around to ensure safety and order.

  Mackenzie had been robbed of her comp-phone more times than she wanted to count. She never wore jewellery or carried anything valuable, to limit temptation.

  Being wary of her surroundings was the key to safety and survival. Occurrences of gunfight on the streets near her home weren’t as prevalent as it was in other parts of the city, particularly in the desert lands to the south where the main compound o
f the rebels was situated. Being accidentally caught in a cross-fire or encountering a rogue soldier was always foremost in her mind.

  Seeing it was clear, she thought it safe to shut the gate.

  Mackenzie strode towards the large skyscraper where she earned her spending credits. All the houses lining the streets were abandoned and vandalised. Few citizens and families lived outside of large, fenced compounds like Cherrywood Estate.

  Artinean had once been a pretty city, but now it lay in ruins from years of street fighting. What didn’t lie in tatters was hidden behind a barrier of buzzing laser screen walls. Mackenzie never understood why it came to this. Sure, some of the laws imposed by the new administration could be considered authoritarian, but without the rebellion the city would still be in one piece, and safe. She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t fear life in Artinean. She couldn’t really remember life before her father was killed three years ago.

  As the large grey building loomed closer, she prepared herself for the day ahead. Her work, though dull and repetitive, was a requirement of the government. Men became GAPs, went into politics, or held professional positions. Women worked in the monitoring centres, held clerical positions in other government departments, or worked in the Government owned retail outlets and warehouses.

  Everything was owned by the Government. Businesses that once were private were now all possessed by Sinclair. It didn't seem right to her that people lost their businesses to the Government, but it was the way it was.

  Mackenzie worked in communications, which entailed reading endless onscreen transcripts of telephone conversations. Every comp-phone carried a monitoring chip, which fed the information directly to her department. Her job was to report conversations deemed a breach of government policy.