Straybeck Rising

by Michael James Lynch

  “I’m sure that you all saw the gunnermen at the main gate. They are here because some criminal,” she practically shrieked the word, “set fire to the Informer Station. The station that is here to protect us all. And now it has been confirmed by the gunnermen that they suspect a student at this school as being responsible.”

  The hall erupted with excited chatter.

  “Be quiet,” Mr Matthews bellowed and a stunned silence returned. That was when the double doors creaked open a second time and someone with heavy footsteps moved slowly between the rows of children. Everyone, including John, turned to the sound and followed the gunnerman as he took position beside Mr Reaton.

  “This is Gunnerman Dravis from the Straybeck Garrison,” Mr Matthews announced. “He has a message for those people in the room who were responsible for last night’s crime.”

  Mrs Reaton and Mr Matthews stepped to the side leaving Dravis as the focus of everyone in the room. He was maybe fifty years old, with a crumpled appearance and tired expression.

  “Last night,” he began, “after school had closed, someone in this room went back to the Informer Station. This person contacted the authorities and gave us certain information.”

  John squirmed in his seat and his ears burned red. He didn’t dare look up for fear he’d find all eyes turned upon him.

  “After the call was terminated we believe that this person - or persons known to them - returned to the station and set fire to it.” A flutter of excited whispers passed through the assembly. Dravis waited for it to pass before continuing. “Those responsible should know that all informer stations are monitored by cameras that are constantly recording. The footage from last night is being recovered at this moment. Once it has been viewed by the Investigation Sector, it becomes a state level crime. I urge those responsible to come forwards before it reaches that point. Far better to confess to me that wait until the Sector catch up with you. Far, far better.”

  John could stand it no longer. The urge to confess was swelling like a balloon in his chest. It was only a matter of time before they got the recording anyway and then it would be too late to put across his side of the story across.

  “I will be in school for one hour and then it’s out of my hands,” Dravis said. “Once again, I urge you to come forwards before it goes to The Sector. And if you have any information, speak to a teacher and let us know.”

  Dravis nodded to Mrs Reaton and then returned through the rows of students. The headmistress was quick to begin her prayer for the Premier’s continued health and loyalty to the Unified City States.

  John stared ahead, speaking the words automatically, numb to the excitement that gripped everyone else. When the prayer finished though, Mr Matthews moved himself into the space that John’s gaze had been fixed upon. They locked eyes and John was shocked to see the hardest teacher in Straybeck with fear on his face. Like a mask had slipped, he suddenly appeared vulnerable as he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. It was only a small movement - barely noticeable - but to John the warning was stark.

  Keep your mouth shut.

  The next moment it was gone and the old Mr Matthews had retuned. He harangued the students as they left the hall, daring them to disobey him. As John filed out in silence, he held the slenderest thread of hope that he and Mr Matthews were now bound by the same fate. And seeing him as he was now, John knew thought a mouse like Gunnerman Dravis would never break him.

  At lunch he kept moving between the upper and lower playgrounds, never waiting in one place long enough to draw attention. All his friends were discussing the damage to the Informer Station and he was too scared that he’d trip himself up in lies if they asked him about it.

  “John,” a voice called from behind. He immediately recognised it and considered ignoring her. Instead he turned to see Alia closing the distance between them.“What is it?” he said sullenly.

  She looked at him with a weary expression. “I want you to know how sorry I am.”

  He could tell that she really meant it and after everything that had happened John didn’t have it in him to stay angry anymore.

  “Do you want to talk about yesterday?” she said

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. But I really didn’t know that Ryan was your brother. I promise.”

  John nodded silently and together they set off around the perimeter of the top yard. There were chain link fences marking the boundary line and from the far side it was possible to look down a grassy embankment to the school gates. Beyond that lay the Informer Station. The full damage could be seen better from up here and the pair of them stared down at the blackened metal hull.

  “I heard that gunnermen came to your house.”

  John’s stomach lurched at the reminder but he was careful to control his expression. “How did you know?”

  “Ryan told me. I’m glad you weren’t home when it happened.”

  John’s guilt swelled so strongly that tears gathered in his eyes. He stared down at the Informer Station, unwilling to look at her.

  “John?” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. “I think I figured out why they came.”

  He froze, hardly able to breath. “Why?”

  She stood beside him and placed her fingers through the links in the metal fence.

  “I think someone got hurt by the person they love the most. And I think that person got so angry that they made a very bad decision.”

  The first of John’s tears rolled down his cheek.

  “And if I know that person at all,” Alia continued. “I think they’d take it all back, if they could.”

  John’s voice cracked. “I think they would too. I think they want to more than anything.”

  Alia leaned back on the fence and the metal links sagged inwards to support her. John no longer tried to hide his face and to his surprise there was no laughter or mocking smile. Instead, Alia placed one hand upon his shoulder.

  “I never had a brother,” she said earnestly. “But if I did, I’d want him to be you. From now on, your secrets are my secrets.”

  By the end of school, no one from the Investigation Sector had come for him, so with a quick-beating heart, John scuttled down the corridors towards the knife gate. Once he had cleared the bottle-neck of students, he felt a sudden euphoria. Maybe Mr Matthews had kept his promise and deleted the footage. Feeling better than he had for days, John found himself jogging across town, wanting to be home as quick as possible. He allowed himself to daydream that maybe he could persuade Ryan to come back too. Maybe they could all make friends again. Maybe they could be a real family.

  When he turned the corner of his street though the fragile sense of hope was suddenly shattered. Grouped around his front door were three gunnermen swinging a long metal ram against the hinges. With a final smack, the wood splintered and as one they ran over the broken planks and into the house.

  Chapter 45

  The first strike shook the walls of the house and Robb ran to the hallway in time for the second blow to fall. The door buffeted inwards but held firm. On the third strike it flew open and a huge splinter of wood cartwheeled at Robb, smacking into his shoulder. The gunnermen were on him immediately, bellowing as they stormed forwards.

  A primitive anger seized Robb, an old and familiar friend. He met the lead gunnerman head on, ducked beneath the swinging punch and drove up with his shoulder. The gunnerman grunted as his feet left the ground and Robb pushed him into to the wall.

  The second one was on him then, tackling Robb around the waist sending them both sprawling to the carpet. All three gunnermen surrounded him, landing solid kicks into his back and legs. Robb barely felt them though, so strongly did the fury have hold of him. He covered his head and waited. Waited for the gunnermen to grow tired so he could finish them one by one. He pictured hurting them, savouring the images with grim satisfaction. He sensed the moment approaching, felt the strength bunching in his muscles.

  A sound broke through his rage though,
quiet at first, but insistent and strong. It was a voice, higher than the others. A female voice that he tried to block out. He knew instinctively it would cheat him of his strength. He felt the kicks from the gunnermen growing weaker, their sting fading. His moment was close, and Robb revelled in the anticipation that twitched in his muscles. But the woman’s voice was at his ear now. Her cheek pressed against his. The kicks had stopped and only her voice remained.

  “Don’t Robb. Please. Just lie still. Please.”

  As the words chipped away at him, he felt his resolve failing. An almost crippling pain took its place but still the voice talked him closer.

  “Don’t do this,” it whispered. “You’re not that person anymore.”

  The anger deserted him and Robb was just a tired old man lying face down on the carpet. The voice was Eliza’s and she was using her body as a shield against the gunnermen attack. His back and ribs sang with pain but as their kicks slowed he was able to roll away and prop himself against the stairs where he lay panting for breath. One of the gunnermen drew a sidearm and levelled it at Robb’s head.

  “It’s not him,” a voice said. It was the sergeant who had searched their house the day before. “It’s just his fuck up of a father. One of you search upstairs, the other check down here. I’ll keep an eye on this one.”

  The other two set about their orders while the sergeant leaned forwards, positioning his face just inches from Robb’s.

  “Told you I’d be back,” he grinned. “And this time there aren’t any seveners to get in the way.”

  Robb no longer had the energy to fight or even stand. He lay uncomfortably against the bottom three steps, not trusting himself to stay upright. “Where’s your shit-heel of a son?” the sergeant said, nudging Robb with one boot.

  “Leave him,” Eliza snapped, which provoked a cruel laugh.

  “She’s got a bit of fight in her. More than you anyway.”

  Eliza put her palm against Robb’s face, using the coolness of her skin to sooth him. “Just focus on me,” she said. The sergeant gave a snort of disgust then nosed around the lounge waiting for the other gunnermen to return. There was a sudden yelp from outside and the sound of a struggle.

  “Get off me,” a voice yelled and then let out another squeal of pain.

  The gunnerman who had been searching the back yard appeared at the kitchen doorway. In one brawny arm he was dragging a small figure who was flailing angrily in a bid to escape.

  “This him Sarge? Found him sneaking around out back.”

  “John,” Eliza yelled. She dragged him away from the gunnerman.

  John looked shaken and close to tears but was otherwise unhurt. He sprang into his mother’s arms though and then saw his dad crumpled on the floor.

  “What’s happening?” he cried.

  “It’s okay,” he said as calmly as he could. He tried to stand, but the best he could manage was rolling onto one knee. The sergeant laughed again and pushed down on Robb’s shoulder, forcing him back to the floor. Stepping between them he grabbed John under the jaw and stared at him.

  “It’s not him,” Eliza snarled. “You can see he’s too young.”

  Reluctantly the sergeant shook his head at the other gunnermen.

  “Anyone upstairs?”

  “Empty.”

  “So where is he?” he whipped round to face Robb.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since you were here yesterday.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “You want us to take him?” one of the gunnermen offered, gesturing at Robb. “We’ll find out how truthful he’s being.”

  The sergeant considered it in silence and then shook his head. “No. Leave him. The old bastard’s had his treatment.” He gave Robb a twisted grin. “But know that your boy can’t stay hidden for ever. Sooner or later he’ll show his face and then …well I don’t have to tell you what happens next, do I?” He laughed and led the other two gunnermen from the house.

  As soon as they were gone, John began to cry. He was trembling all over and Eliza led him to the kitchen table and made him sit down. She poured a glass of cold, cloudy water from the juddering taps.

  “Drink it slowly,” she said softly. “I’m going to see to your dad.”

  Robb was already on his feet though, leaning heavily against the doorway.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. The cut on his eye had opened up again and he looked like he might fall over at any moment. “There’s something else I need you to do, Eliza. We need to know what Ryan’s caught up in. This wasn’t about yesterday. This was something new. Something serious.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Go to Karasard and get a message to Kellie Downs.”

  “Kellie?” Suddenly the name snagged in her memory and Eliza stepped back. “The sevener? After what he…”

  “I know what you’re going to say,” Robb cut in. “I haven’t forgotten what he did. But right now we need his help.”

  “You can’t trust him.”

  She was probably right, but Robb knew he was out of choices.

  Chapter 46

  In his first few moments after the explosion, Ryan was blind and deaf to the world. His bones felt like metal pipes struck by a hammer. They quivered and shook while a high-pitched whine split his head. He felt the pressure build at the base of his skull and he thought the inside of his head was going to force its way out. There was a sudden crack from his right ear and a pop in his left as though someone had jammed a screwdriver deep inside.

  Clutching his head, Ryan rolled to his knees, desperately trying to orientate himself against the muffled chaos. He could hear screams and each breath he took was a choking combination of smoke and powdered stone.

  With the sleeve of his jacket, Ryan wiped a streak of blood from his eyes and staggered forwards. He was knocked aside by someone running in the opposite direction and then his feet stumbled over something on the ground. He fell heavily on the cobbles and his hands stopped on something warm and wet. Ryan had trouble recognising it as human, so disfigured was the gunnerman’s corpse. He rolled away as the bile rose in his stomach only to find more bodies and limbs strewn around him. He staggered through the grisly scene until he was clear of the smoke and debris.

  At each corner of the town square, workers and tradesmen were gathering at the checkpoints, drawn by the explosion. They were prevented from entering by the barriers, but dozens of white collar workers were stumbling from the rear doors of the law firms and office blocks. They stood in packs, watching nervously as the scene played out. Ryan coughed the dust from his lungs and a man and woman wearing neat blue suits ran over.

  “What’s happened?” the woman said. Her face was framed by straight blonde hair and she placed one hand on Ryan’s shoulder to steady him.

  “I don’t know,” he coughed. He tried to think back to the explosion but couldn’t escape the image of those dismembered bodies. He spat onto the cobbles and tried to shake loose whatever was blocking his ears.

  “Did you see anyone?” the man said. He was more rattled than the woman had been. “Was there a bomb? Shit there might be others,” he moved back towards the offices.

  As they spoke, more gunnermen ran into the square from each checkpoint and even with his muffled hearing, Ryan could make out the discord of the sirens as more patrols responded.

  Where was Brynne?

  Against all his instincts and the protests of the woman with blonde hair, Ryan stumbled back the way he had come. Was the old man lying injured? Was he dead? Ryan steadied himself for the possibility that he might find his mangled remains amongst that awful collection of corpses.

  Now the dust had mostly settled, he searched quickly but still kept one sleeve over his mouth. Some of those he passed were conscious, gripping onto legs and arms that had been damaged in the blast. Others were still alive but crying out senselessly as they writhed on the floor. Then there were the bloody remains of those who had been closest
to the blast.

  Ryan steeled himself to search their faces, praying that he wouldn’t see Brynne’s cold blue eyes staring back at him. Suddenly he came upon a body that was smaller than the others. He tried not to look. Tried not to see the lifeless little girl with bright blonde hair now matted in blood. Arris’s sister.

  A nearby gunnerman blew a whistle and its shrill note pierced through Ryan’s thoughts.

  “Put a block on the checkpoints,” he yelled, trying to bring order to the scene. “Nobody leaves without my say so. Get some medics to the wounded. Everyone else to surrender their cards.”

  Ryan stole one last look around him, praying for a glimpse of Brynne. As more gunnermen appeared though he knew he had tarried long enough. If they found him at the scene of a bombing there would be no coming back from that.

  Ryan fled from the carnage, heading for the checkpoint he had passed through earlier. Hopefully there would still be time to escape the square before it was completely sealed off. He was only a few metres away when he saw three more gunnermen running towards him from the street. Worse still, the one at the checkpoint had kept his discipline long enough to lower the metal gate and block the exit. With a curse, Ryan changed direction and made for the opposite corner of the square.

  It was a vast space to cross and with all the life knocked out of him, Ryan was slow to cover the distance. By the time he reached the checkpoint he was hardly able to breathe. Two gunnermen were waiting there, locked in an argument with a bruised and battered man in his fifties. Ryan recognised him from the oath ceremony where he had been clapping proudly after one of the girls said her words. Now the smiles had vanished and he was screaming at the gunnermen and gesturing at the chaos around the town hall steps.

  Ryan considered slipping through the gate while they were distracted, but then three more patrol cars drew up and he knew it would be impossible. His head was throbbing and he gently dabbed the front of his hairline finding blood on his fingertips. He stepped back from the checkpoint and cast around for another option. There had to be another way out.