The Kidnapped Army

by Shiloh White

  “The short version is that, each part of town has its own style. They have no problem standing alone, like districts or wards, I suppose. You could spend your whole life in one and never be aware of the others. But if you were to take a closer look around, you'd see they cannot function without each other. They all add up to this Zone of insanity we call De Mentoria and—oops! Almost missed it. This way.”

  He took off running down the street with Chug in his arm. I quickly followed. Suddenly, he turned down an alleyway, diving deeper into this strange, almost familiarly poor piece of town. Another turn, and Gordon said, “Almost there.”

  As we kept moving, Chug slowly regained consciousness, until he was awake enough to see he was being carried.

  “Let me go!” he shouted, beginning to flail against Gordon. Gordon came to a stop near a couple of broken down windows, and dropped Chug from his arm. Chug fell to the ground with a thud, and wheeled around to see who it was carrying him. “I'm not gonna let you get away—oh...” he said. Gordon said nothing, but took the moment to straighten his clothes.

  “He saved us, Chug,” I explained. “Zone-Hopped us here. And he carried you the whole time until now.” Chug looked at me, then up at Gordon.

  “Thanks, I guess,” he said. Gordon simply tilted his head at Chug in acknowledgment.

  “Now,” Gordon said, “we're almost there, so stay close. We don't want anyone following us.” Chug and I stayed on other side of him as we inched through a thin alleyway and came out in an open alcove area where a solitary building sat. The smell that came from the building was unbelievably strong—Italian food, pasta, soup, and so much more.

  Up on the front of the building, a red neon sign spelled out “MR. REGGIE'S,” in cursive letters.

  13. Mr. Reggie’s Pretty Clever—For A Bonehead

  The aroma of food was much stronger inside. It was also very busy inside, considering the building was in an alleyway. Not a person walked around outside, but in here, almost every table was filled with prominent-looking people and at the same time, some homeless-looking people. They were all being brought the same fancy assortments of plates from the kitchen staff.

  “The boss is in his office,” Gordon pointed, singling out a door at the back of the room. “This way.”

  Chug and I fell in line behind Gordon to avoid the hustle and bustle of Mr. Reggie's restaurant workers. Gordon knocked on the door, and a familiar voice yelled, “Come in!”

  Gordon opened the door, and we followed him inside. In the middle of the room was one large dining table. On the table sat a platter and on that platter sat Mr. Reggie.

  I might have forgotten to mention Mr. Reggie is a skull. Like, an actual skeleton, made of bone, somehow still alive skull.

  “Ahh, Gordon, you're back early and—Oh! Lucy! I'm so glad you could make it. Good job bringing her here, Chug!"

  “Thanks, boss,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. I wondered if he was still a little dizzy from Stark clocking him in the head. For just a second, no one did anything, and I felt awkwardness beginning to fester in the room. I personally had a few things to say, but I wasn't sure whether to wait or not. Then Gordon walked over and whispered to Mr. Reggie what I assumed was the rest of what happened, because after he finished, Mr. Reggie burst into laughter.

  “You went down after one backhand? That's hilarious!” he cackled. “That must be why you look so dazed. Find somewhere to sit, boy.” Chug quickly followed directions, pulling over a chair from the corner of Mr. Reggie's office.

  “Now then,” he said, Gordon turning his platter to face me, “Lucy, thank you for coming.”

  “Who decided it was cool to go into my head to get my attention?” I blurted out.

  Mr. Reggie burst into laughter once more.

  “My apologies, kid. We really didn't have much choice. I would've sent Chug sooner, only...” He made a 'tsk' sound, which should have been impossible without a tongue. “What matters,” he continued, “is that got you here. Okay?"

  “Barely,” Chug quipped.

  “Shaddup, kid. Last I checked, that 'barely' is on you. I wouldn'ta sent you alone if I knew it would go that bad. Anyhow, Lucy, you'll be alright. We didn't snoop or anything. Just made you a little crazy to get your attention. Rest assured your head checks out."

  “Easy for someone without a head to say.” I blurted out again. Part of me wished I could take it back. But they'd gone into my brain without my permission. That had to be some form of violation in the Dust—I was almost positive. But he was taking it so lightly, I couldn't leave it alone.

  “I like your spunk, kid. But it's no flesh. My head is still here. And it definitely ain't empty, so trust me when I say you'll be fine."

  “Perhaps we can continue the head talk another time,” Gordon said, “as there are...more pressing matters to discuss."

  “Always so polite,” Mr. Reggie said. “But you're right, Gordon. Lucy, you remember why I called ya?”

  “Dart's missing."

  “That's right.” he said. “Disappeared along with a bunch of Ex-Depression Agents."

  “Wait, what?” I asked.

  “Lemme start at the beginning,” Mr. Reggie said. “Since the whole big problem last week with Damian and then this kid"—he shoved his skull as well as he could to gesture to Chug—"and his gang of other kids, things have been changin' around here. For instance, Chug and the Abandoned are now carryin' on from underneath my wing of well-being.” I glanced at Chug.

  “They all work for you?”

  “I don't like puttin' it dat way, but sure. That's the bottom line,” Mr. Reggie answered, “and it stayed that way until about three days ago...” I looked from Mr. Reggie to Gordon, then to Chug.

  “What happened three days ago?"

  “Gonzalo,” Chug said. He folded his arms, and stared off at nothing in particular, as if replaying the memory.

  “Ten years old. The youngest at the time, and the first Abandoned to disappear.”

  “Yep,” Mr. Reggie agreed. “And it's only gotten worse. We've lost eleven more gang members since then. All still technically just kids.”

  “And these kids didn't just abandon the Abandoned?” I asked. “Like, they didn't prefer the new management, so they left?"

  Chug shook his head. “I would've known,"

  I instantly regretting asking. The look on his face told me how painful it was not knowing where they were.

  “After the first day of disappearances,” Mr. Reggie said, “I contacted Dart and he came to our rescue. The next two days, he's investigating where they all went. Until—poof! He goes missin' himself.”

  I knit my eyebrows, trying to grab onto the new info swirling around my head.

  “So that's why you called me?” I asked. “To help find him and the Abandoned?"

  “That was the original plan,” Mr. Reggie confirmed. “But now, Gordon tells me this Stark character is after you as well as Chug now."

  “He's been after me for two days now,” Chug chimed. Mr. Reggie whipped his skull on his silver platter in order to face Chug.

  “Quiet, kid,” he said sharply. Then he turned back to face me. “Anyway. I was just hoping you would provide some more power to our cause, being from Topside and all. Unfortunately, that plan's all mucked up because that Stark put out a code marking you a fugitive.”

  “What's that got to do with anything?” I asked, but then regretted my words. It sounded sort of careless, like: So this guy wants to hunt me down and kill me? AND the Depression Force said it was cool? Big whoop.

  “It's got exactly two words to do with everything,” Gordon said, his deep accent rejoining the conversation. He took a step forward from his post just behind Mr. Reggie. “Hyper-watch lockdown."

  I didn't even pretend to know what that was.

  “I'm not even going to pretend to know what that is,” I told the butler.

  “Under that procedure,” he explained, “the Depression Force sets an extra radar all over the Dust to search
for your emotional signature—”

  “Which they've had since you got depressed.” Mr. Reggie added. Gordon nodded at his boss and continued.

  “Unless you're in an Anchor Zone, the Depression Force can pinpoint your exact location. And once they find you...I'm pretty sure you can figure out the rest."

  “So the entire Depression Force wants to find and kill me?"

  Gordon nodded.

  “Well, that's awesome."

  “That ain't even the best part,” Mr. Reggie said. “Zone-Hopping back to Topside takes quite a bit of energy, so it'll give away your position. They'll take you out before we have a chance to get you home.”

  I ran my hands through my hair, starting to pace around the room.

  “So I'm stuck here?” I asked.

  “Unless they remove hyper-watch lockdown,” Gordon answered. I let a gust of air shoot out of my lungs. I thought of Mrs. Nary taking roll to board the bus back home.

  “You guys, I'm on a field trip,” I explained. “I need to get back before I'm declared missing. The last time I was here, everyone lost their mind about where I went. I can't let that happen again."

  “How much time does that give us to get you back?” Mr. Reggie asked. I pulled out my phone to calculate the difference between Michigan and Dust Standard Time.

  The time read: 4:54pm, Tuesday, January 9th.

  We killed the whole day just trying to get here, in what felt to me like a single hour. I didn't know how these guys did it. Then again, they didn't follow Topside time.

  “My field trip lasts until Sunday morning,” I told them. Chug raised an eyebrow. Gordon looked at me expectantly, like I was missing something. “Uh, Topside time, I mean. That's just under a week from now over there, or up there or however it translates between these two places."

  “Which means we've got less than a day here to get you home,” Chug said grimly. Not exactly the confidence-booster I was looking for.

  I stopped pacing and clasped my hands together.

  “So,” I said, trying very hard not to scream, “I need to get back home, but I'm on ultimate house-arrest in the Dust until further notice, because the Depression Force saw me working with Chug, who they assume is responsible for Dart disappearing. And while we try to figure out where he and the others really are, there's a bloodthirsty killer sent by the Depression Force probably on his way here to finish us off. Did I miss anything?"

  “I think you summed it up rather well, kid.” Mr. Reggie said.

  I pulled out a chair from the dinner table and sighed as I sat. “Our best bet of getting home on time has got to be clearing our names then, right? Find Dart and prove our innocence?

  “It's better than waiting for Stark to hunt us down again,” Chug said.

  “Do we have any idea where to start?” I asked.

  “I suggest you and Chug head over to the Abandoned's hideout first,” Mr. Reggie said. “There should be someone there who can effectively Zone-Hop more than one person, assuming he hasn't been taken too."

  “Can't Gordon do that?” I asked.

  Gordon exchanged a glance with the Mr. Reggie, who shook his head as well as a skull sitting on a platter could.

  “I've got him on top-secret private information business stuff,” he explained. “The fact that I'm not letting him go with ya should speak for itself on how serious his job is. I can't stand to have him be interrupted any longer.” Then Mr. Reggie gestured to Chug, nodding his skull in the boy's direction.

  “The same goes for you two. Less than a day. Understood?” he asked. I looked over at Chug for confirmation. He bit his lip before answering.

  “Sure thing, boss."

  14. Yes, But Is YOUR Secret Base a Bookstore?

  I followed Chug out the front doors of “MR. REGGIE'S,” and down into an alleyway. Barely five minutes passed before Chug kicked over a trash can. A black cat flew out of it and quickly scurried away.

  “Whoa,” I said. “What's eating you?"

  “It's nothing, alright?” he snapped. Safe to say it wasn't nothing.

  I played back our encounter in Mr. Reggie's office, and I realized that he was quite rude to Chug while we were in there. It me another moment to guess why: Mr. Reggie must have been upset at Chug for throwing a wrench into Gordon's assignment, causing him to bring the two of us here.

  “It was your mission to get me here,” I assumed. “So when Mr. Reggie found out how we got here—"

  “Yes,” Chug shouted, “I screwed up! Whoop-de-do. Can we get moving again, please?”

  You stopped to kick the trash can, I thought.

  I gestured down the alleyway, and he continued to lead the way.

  “What's it like working for him?” I asked.

  Chug took in an angry breath through his nose. I figured he was going to explode at the skull, but instead, he let all the air escape through his lips in a sigh. We turned out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk.

  “It's extremely hard,” he said. “I've gone place after place, avoided capture, got into fights, you name it. I even went to Topside a couple times. Just to steal something or gain info."

  “Sounds dangerous."

  “It is,” he nodded. “But...I wouldn't trade it for anything.”

  In that moment, all I could think of was Mr. Reggie laughing at Chug, this barely-teenage kid. How cruel I thought that skull was right then. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “In return, I get something I've never had before: a safe place. For me and the Abandoned. And Dart was here helping us too.” Chug shook his head as he walked. “There was no other feeling like that before; that safety. And now for them all to disappear—” Chug's voice cracked and he stopped walking again. I wanted to console him; put my hand on his shoulder or something, but I figured that would just make him more upset.

  “It’s like,” he struggled to say, “it's like it's all being stolen from me all over again. First Takao ditched us and now all these other members...I just don't want to lose that security.”

  I could relate to that. Painting was that safe place for me, and ever since my mother came home, I'd felt like that place had been attacked.

  Instead of answering him, I just looked at Chug with a bit of newfound respect. The kid had been quite the grade-A brat the last time I saw him, shoving his gun in just about everyone's face. Now he was a part of something, and actually cared about what happened to it. I decided not to push him any further on his safe place.

  However, I found myself thinking on the Depression Force's actions, and a moment later, I couldn't stand the quiet.

  “Hey, something's been bugging me about the Depression Force,” I told him.

  “What?” he asked, leading me down another alleyway that felt vaguely familiar.

  “Why didn't you guys just tell them when Dart first disappeared?” I asked. “Or when your own Agents began disappearing, for that matter?"

  “For the same reason we're still not going to tell them.” Chug said, his voice heated with emotion. I must have attacked something sensitive. I knew I'd have to proceed carefully here.

  “What reason is that?” I spoke each word slowly so I didn't set him over the rails.

  “They won't believe us,” he answered. “As you can see from the measures they've taken, they're a little blindsided. If we told them one of theirs was missing, we might as well have been turning ourselves in on the spot, or committing the actual crime itself.” It was such an unfortunate truth, I could hear the anger emanating from him.

  “As for why we didn't report the first disappearances,” he continued, “it's because they wouldn't care. In case you forgot, their duties kind of include getting rid of Depression Agents. A few gone AWOL is no skin off their organization's back."

  The way he talked about the Depression Force seemed so...cold. But I was just there, and that wasn't I what I felt at all. They were real people, dedicated to helping Topsiders like me with their problems.
/>
  Oh.

  I felt like an idiot. I suppose if you were that problem, then you'd have a different perspective on said solution.

  And yet at the same time, Chug and the Abandoned were Agents who turned their back on that life. So why would the Depression Force have a problem with these guys? I was about to ask Chug, but he stopped abruptly at the end of the alleyway, gesturing for me to stop as well. We paused in silence for a moment, and my ears picked up a faint banging sound off in the distance, like someone was hitting something over and over and over.

  “It's open tonight?” Chug muttered. “It's only supposed to be every other day..."

  “What? What's open?” I asked.

  “You don't recognize that sound?” Chug shook his head. “Come on, we need to get to the base quick. Stay close.” He turned the corner onto the open street and I followed, revealing a building I thought I'd never see again.

  ✽✽✽

  Club Insanis.

  The source of the banging noise was music. Speakers pumping the bass so loud that the ground underneath my feet. People of all kinds were coming in and going out of the front; in fancy and ridiculous clothes, in groups and singles. But they all laughed and shouted just as loud as the music that pumped from that nefarious building throughout the whole block.

  Just two months ago, pretty much the worst thing that could have happened to me, happened in there: I met Damian.

  To most, he was the owner of the Club Insanis. To the Depression Force, he was the Zone Holder of all De Mentoria. (Basically, the club and the entire Anchor Zone around it.)

  To me, Damian was a detached maniac and a murderer. Without him, Lucas would still be alive, and Chloe wouldn't have a gray streak in her hair. I felt disgusted, pissed off, and scared all at once as we walked down the sidewalk; we were just across the street from the place. I wondered if he was in there right now, plotting his next scheme to raise an evil power while vibing to deep-bass trance music. I shivered at the thought.

  “Right here,” Chug said, stopping just across the street from Insanis. I turned around, peeling my eyes off the awful place, and saw what appeared to be an old run-down and abandoned bookstore.