by S. C. Green
“I got burgled about a month ago,” Diana replied as she set what seemed to be her favourite kitten—a little ginger girl with black-lined eyes—down with the rest of her family. “They cleared out most of this room.”
“Did they hurt you?” I couldn’t believe Diana hadn’t told me this.
She shook her head. “I hid in the closet. Can we keep the cats?”
Once again, I marvelled at her ability to recover from the tremendous challenge that loomed before us. Hardship just rolled off her like retreating storm clouds across a crisp green field. She’d seen more than any twelve year old should in her whole lifetime, but she could still find something in the world to delight upon, to bring joy.
Of course, just because I loved and admired Diana didn’t mean she didn’t come with her own set of problems. Those kittens, for instance. We were barely able to feed ourselves, and having to take care of a family of growing cats would make our survival infinitely more improbable. But it was impossible to deny their fluffy cuteness or Diana’s happiness.
I sighed. “Fine. But they’re going to have to pull their weight around here. That means fresh mice caught every day—big ones we might be able to stew into something palatable. And I’m going to have to get that mama cat fixed. If this lot start multiplying like tribbles, we’re going to be in trouble.”
“Tribbles?”
I felt a sharp stab of pain in my chest. Diana had lost much of her childhood—TV and candy and school and magazines and baseball and boy crushes were all concepts that were completely foreign to her. “Sorry. It was before your time. Maybe one day you’ll get to watch a TV, and then you’ll understand.”
“I’d like that, Syd.” Diana curled up on the damp, rotting couch with her kittens and closed her eyes.
I CLEANED up our mattresses as best I could. Evidently, the roof was leaking somewhere in the building, and while we didn’t really get rain in the dome, it could get quite humid near the Rim as condensation gathered on the surface of the dome, only a few metres above the roofs of the buildings in some places. The sticky air had been circulating through the apartment, giving everything a layer of damp and a lovely scent like wet cheese.
After I’d checked each floor of the building and found no other signs of life, we curled up together, Diana and the four cats and me, and slept. Well, they slept. I stared at the ceiling and pondered my next move.
First things first, Diana and I needed food and water. I had a little stashed in the box I’d taken from the Compound, but it was perishable and would be gone in a day or so. But I had Cory’s scanners and a couple of the particle guns. With a little luck, my contacts in the underground were still alive, and I might be able to trade something for them. I cursed myself that I hadn’t thought to learn how Cory made that water reclamation unit.
After I secured us food and water, I needed to bring down Dorien. And I knew the best way to do it now that I was no longer with the Reapers—was to take out his trafficking network. If I stopped them, I stripped Dorien of much of his power, and hopefully that would stop him helping the wraith destroy the dome.
Only then could I move on to the third thing on my list. I had to stop the wraith. This was the item that terrified me the most. But the alternative was far worse, dooming more souls to an eternity of wandering the earth. I couldn’t let that kind of evil free into the world. Even on the chance that outside the dome there was a way to fight the wraith. It was too much of a risk. They were our problem, and I’d make sure the Mayor knew it.
Even if I died in Petrified City, and even though my heart ached to get Diana free of this place, I was going to keep the dome intact.
THE NEXT DAY, I left Diana in the apartment with her kittens and one of Cory’s guns, packed some of the weapons and scanners I’d nicked into an old pillowcase, and went down to Joey’s Laundromat.
Joey’s was one of my old haunts—a little shop on the corner of Kay and Queen Streets. Joey didn’t do much laundry any more, but he did store objects for people in the old machines. They were the safety deposit boxes of the Rim, and unlike a bank, Joey didn’t ask any questions. You didn’t need to ask questions when you have an assault rifle.
Because of this, he had all sorts of connections into the gangs, and he could facilitate the buying and selling of illicit goods onto the black market.
Before I’d gone into the clink, Kay Street had once been one of the busiest streets in the Rim—a centre of all that was underground and debaucherous. But now it was practically deserted. Doors were barred shut, windows boarded up. With every step I took, I felt eyes on me, peering through cracks in the boards. My hand perched nervously on my belt where my knife rested against my thigh.
Joey’s looked just as derelict and deserted as the rest of the streets. The windows were dark, and the sign out front advertising some of his recent procurements hadn’t been changed since last I’d seen it. My stomach sank as I neared the door. Had Joey been husked? That would be a huge blow to my plan.
I tried the door to the laundromat. To my surprise, the handle turned, and I pushed the door open. The room was dark—no one bothered to turn lights on during the day to conserve what precious power we had for night time. There was no one in the store.
I stalked down the rows of washing machines, large padlocks dangling from each, and stopped in front of the counter. I grabbed hold of the metal cage Joey had installed after one too many customers had gotten aggressive and shook it loudly. “Joey?”
“Is that you, Syd?” A face popped around the corner of the wall. Despite it only being a few months since I’d last seen him, Joey appeared older, his face ruddy, his skin hanging slack from his bones, his curly dark hair cut close to his skull. But his age didn’t fool anyone. Joey was as sharp as they came, and as the middleman in nearly every illicit transaction going on in the Rim, he had the best weapons. I could always trust him to find a buyer for my goods without me having to get my hands dirty directly.
“It’s me, Joey.”
He gave me a crooked grin. “I thought you were in the clink.”
“I slipped out a few days ago. Listen, I need food, desperately. Do you still have an in with the Santo farm?” This was a farm run by the Spinoldi gang from rooftop conservatories and underground hydroponic plants. It was one of the largest farming networks in Petrified City, and unlike some of the other farms who sold only cash crops into the hub for maximum profit, the Santo farm were still willing to sell into the Rim … for the right price.
Joey frowned. “I do, but it might not help you none. Things are pretty tough around here. People ain’t buying much anymore, not even Hubside. Santo ain’t selling for just anything.”
“Luckily, I don’t have just anything.” I pulled the sack from my shoulder and tossed the contents out onto the tray on the counter.
Joey pulled the tray through to his side and picked up one of the particle guns, inspecting it through his coke-bottle glasses. “This is a Reaper weapon. Fuck, Syd, where’d you lift this lot from?”
“Let’s just say my time in prison taught me a few new tricks.” I grinned, hoping I was selling him on the collection.
“I might be interested in one of these myself.” He ran his fingers along the barrel of the particle gun.
“They don’t come cheap.”
“What’re these?” He picked up one of Cory’s scanning cellphones.
“The Reapers call them Scanners. They operate on some kind of internal telecommunications network. There’s all sorts of apps on them. They can tell you when wraith are nearby, help you calculate supplies, all sorts of useful things.”
“This is …” Joey swiped at the screen with his wrinkled fingers. The scanner beeped angrily. “Syd, I think I pushed the wrong thing.”
I sighed. “Look, Joey, I’m a busy woman. I’ll leave two scanners and one particle gun with you. Get me what I need. Do we have a deal or not?”
“Of course we have a deal. Do you have a shopping list?”
“Ju
st food, and lots of it. Stuff like grains and preserves that will last a while.” I paused. “And I’ll give you that gun for your trouble, if you can give me any information about a sex-ring involving a Reaper.”
Joey wrinkled his nose, which lifted his glasses higher up its bridge. “I ain’t know nothing about that shit, Syd. And you know it.”
“Oh, but I think you do.” I leaned over the counter, fishing my knife from my belt and twirling it around my fingers. “You know every sordid and shady thing that goes on in the Rim. I want to know who the pimp is on this side, where they take the girls, where the brothel is located, who the Johns are. Anything I can use to pin these guys. Do you understand me?”
“I’ll do my best, Syd.” He fingered the trigger of the gun.
I knew I had him. He was looking at a weapon he thought would save his skin.
“Yes, you will. These guys tried to take Diana, Joe. I’m not going to let them get away with it.”
His face darkened. “They did the wrong thing messing with you, Syd.”
I shoved the knife back into my jeans and pulled everything except the two guns and two scanners back into my sack. “By the time I’m through, they’ll know it. Thanks, Joey. I’ll remember you.”
I MADE another stop at a tiny fight club operated by Dal Lewis, who had an in with the Dimitri clan and a soft spot for me since I’d managed to steal him a new prosthetic arm from a husked body in the Hub. I didn’t trust Dal enough to leave my stuff with him, but I showed him my third gun and a scanner, and told him I’d be back every day to see if he had any interest
It was a huge risk, dealing with the Dimitris after they landed me in jail last time, but I figured the gun would entice them enough to provide me with something useful. I implied to Dal that I was looking for someone in particular within the ring – that would make my interest believable to the gangs.
Those two tasks completed, I returned to our apartment. Diana had torn a strip of fabric off the bottom of the curtains and dangled it in front of the kittens, laughing as they pounced and batted at it.
I kissed her on the head. “Do they have names yet?”
“The mother is Betty. The babies are Russell, Patrick, and this one is Princess.” Diana pointed to her favourite little ginger kitten, who was busy tackling her brother Patrick out of the way in order to claim the ribbon for herself.
I laughed as they played together. At least we still had something to smile about.
“Did you get any food?” Diana asked. “I’m starving.”
I pulled one of the chocolate bars from my box and handed it to her. “Take this for now. I’m hoping it won’t be long until our supplies come in.”
It wasn’t long at all. Two hours later, while Diana was playing with the kittens and I was lying on the bed trying to sleep, there was a knock at the door.
Had Dal followed me? Had one of the gang members figured out where I lived? The only person who knew where I lived in the Rim was Joey, and that was for my own protection. In case a deal went sour, he could find me and warn me.
At my silent urging, Diana gathered up the cats and ran to hide in the closet. I pulled my knife out and cautiously approached the door.
“Who’s there?” I called out, hiding in the corner of the room in case they decided to shoot through the door.
No one answered.
I waited a few moments, then crept around the corner. I reached out and unhooked the lock, flinging open the door. It banged against the wall, and I jumped.
The hallway was empty except for a dented cardboard box and a 10L paint bucket with the lid on. I checked both ways but couldn’t see anyone hiding in the hall or inside the broken elevator shafts. I used the tip of my knife to lift a flap of the box.
Inside was a sack of flour, a small package of wheat crackers, another of potatoes, a package of meat that I suspected was probably dog, a jar of tomato pieces, a bunch of carrots, and three tiny radishes. Sitting on top was a thin envelope with my name scrawled across it in red crayon.
My stomach rumbled loudly. I lifted the box and carried it inside, dumping it down on the table. Then I carried the paint bucket in, as well. I opened the lid. It was filled to the brim with slightly discoloured water.
Diana crept out from the closet and came over to inspect the box.
“There’s not much,” she said softly, reaching for one of the radishes.
“I think everything is getting scarce now.” I slit open the letter and pulled out the paper inside.
“Who sent us this stuff? Sydney, what did you do?”
I didn’t answer her. I stared at the piece of paper in my hands.
“What’s that?” Diana glanced over my shoulder. “Is it from Alain?”
I shoved the paper into my pocket and batted Princess away from her attempt to jump inside the box. “It’s nothing. Now, shall we see about some dinner?”
The message on the paper had burned itself into my mind. It contained only one line of text—an address written in Joey’s childish handwriting. But it was enough. It was the first step in breaking down Dorien’s hold over the city.
20
The next day, I woke with a cold sweat and a squirming stomach. I managed to make it to the window before I threw up down the side of the building. What was wrong with me? I mopped my wet brow and pulled down the sash before Diana woke up and saw what had happened. Was I sick? Or was it just my nerves acting up on me, knowing what I had to do today?
I pulled on my filthy jeans and t-shirt, shrugged on my jacket, downed a cup of brackish water, and kissed a still sleeping Diana on the cheek. Grabbing my knives from beside the bed, I went out.
Forty-five minutes later, I was in Camberdon, right on the outer fringe of the Rim. The dome was so close that I could see the wall of shimmering grey rising up between two of the crumbling petrified tenements at the end of the street.
I followed the address from the envelope to a townhouse, but instinct told me not to use the front door. Instead, I scaled the wire fence and came up the back path, kicking aside piles of rubbing to clear the way to the door. The townhouse was grimy, the windows boarded up and the back door streaked with filth. Petrification was beginning to overtake its lower storeys, lumpy stone columns rising up from the earth and encircling the basement and lower windows like tentacles.
I pressed my hand against the peeling wood and peered inside. A dim hallway led back into a darkened house, the paper peeling from the walls and the carpet rubbed bare. Candles burned in dirty sconces on the walls, the light bulbs having long since burned out. Closed doors lined either side of the hallway. Only the pairs of stiletto heels stacked in the corner beside a dusty coat rack gave any clue to what went on inside.
My hand rested on the knife on my belt. I drew up all the anger I felt over what I’d witnessed inside the Compound, all the horror at Sia’s treatment and May’s terrified expression, at Dorien’s dark threats and terrifying lack of remorse, at the thought of how close Diana came to being part of this.
You’re here for May and Sia. But most of all, you’re here for Diana. I reminded myself, my hand tightening around the blade. No matter what I had to do, no matter who I had to kill, it was my job to make sure Diana – and no innocent girl like her – ever got hurt like that again.
I am not my mother. I protect my family.
I stood on the petrified step and knocked on the door. Several minutes passed with no movement in the hall. I banged harder. The door rattled against its cracking frame.
A woman wearing a filthy dress that was barely larger than a tea cosy stumbled from the dimly lit room at the end of the hall. She was older—approaching her fifties, if she wasn’t there already—and had the same dark hair and sultry eyes that belonged to most of the women in the Dimitri clan. I pulled my hand back just as she reached the door and tugged it open.
She stared at me with a look of dumb surprise on her face. She clutched the doorframe as she staggered forward, lurching toward me as though she coul
d barely hold herself upright. I guessed she was the madam of the establishment.
She’s high, I realised with a start. Not many people were on drugs in the Rim these days. A drug-hazed oblivion was a habit out of reach for most of us. Of the few drugs available, the Dimitri clan controlled most of it, so it made sense they’d be plentiful here where they had to keep their slaves docile. I had found the right place.
“You don’ look like one o’ ours?” she drawled, her tongue flicking at me through crooked front teeth. Her sunken eyes struggled to focus on my face.
“I’m not.” I brought my hand up, the knife handle clenched between my fingers. You have to do this, I told myself, forcing myself through the doubt that held me back.
Her eyes swirled as she registered the blade. She reached for her own knife. “You wouldnna dare.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
I lunged for her throat. She tried to duck out of my way, but I was too fast. I sliced her across the face, tearing a line of red through her cheek.
“You bitch!” she screamed, lunging for me as her hand flew to the wound, the blood seeping between her fingers.
“Get out of my way.” I shoved her aside, sending her sprawling into the doorframe.
Her neck snapped back as her forehead cracked against the stone. I tried to push past her, but she was quicker than I expected. She spun around and shot out her foot. I fell forward, crashing into the hall and landing hard against the first door on the left.
My palms landed flat on the decaying wood, and a vision of the room beyond leapt in front of my eyes. It was a dark closet, stuffed full of boxes and stacked with old clothes, and several firearms and pieces of machinery that had been petrified into disuse. From behind a stack of boxes, two sets of wide blue eyes stared back at me.
Shocked, I jerked my hands away. I pushed myself off the wall. The woman came toward me, and I swung blindly at her. My knife grazed her shoulder. I swiped at her again, opening a deep wound in her forearm.