by JM Butcher
Up ahead, a group of twenty or more kids blocks the intersection. They form a circle, everyone’s chest facing out. It looks like they’re begging someone to provoke them. Begging someone to give them a reason to pounce. No, the pack isn’t waiting for just anyone. It’s waiting for the authorities to close in on them. They point and scream at carefully approaching Gray Coats. The kids don’t back down.
Drivers and passengers alike get out of their cars and watch, like this showdown is a prize fight or a movie. But there are guns and knives, not boxing gloves. And these bodies aren’t holograms. This is a real-life film that’s not going to end well for either side.
Parents give kids their phones so that they can record this moment in history. The ones who remain in their vehicles and turn off the road will have time to watch the videos of the standoff later on u-Watch. Or, they can watch from the authority perspective on every news outlet in the Union. The incoming helicopters, presumably, are also filming. The media will have their strong ratings today.
The fascination that people have for disaster sickens me. People slowing down at the sight of a car crash. People only watching news on transgressive attacks if more people were killed than in the previous one. People here, right now, watching this faceoff. They don’t care who wins, as long as they can witness someone suffering pain.
It all sickens me. At the same time, though, I want to witness the outcome. I’m as bad as the rest of them. I’ve been indoctrinated into a culture that lusts for disaster. I’m rooting for the kids, but I want it to be bloody. I want the Gray Coats to suffer. I’m no better than the others.
Gia turns off the road before I get the opportunity to watch the scuffle, but the sounds of gunfire allow me to picture the escalation and outcome. I can’t help but assume that the Unfavorables lost that battle. Like Jack said, these are purposeless deaths caused by one sick individual with daddy issues.
The new street has its own action going on. On the right side, kids viciously throw rocks through the window of a bank. One kid is being lifted up; he strikes a hammer to the glass sign of this u-Bank. Inside, cash card centers are turned over. No one attempts to take money; their sole purpose is to hand out as much destruction as possible.
On the left side of the street, baseball bats are driven through a clothing store window. A girl, maybe fifteen years old, carries a red can of gasoline into the store. She splashes the fuel over the merchandise. The others in the store run out when she lights a cigarette. After a few puffs, she tosses it on a rack of pants. The store goes up in flames, and she struts away, like she’s a star in an action film.
“This is awful,” Melli states the obvious. She’s staring at a mother giving her son CPR. The boy must have gotten in the way of the chaos. Melli shakes her head. We both know that CPR can’t treat a fatal head wound.
It’s incredible how many Unfavorables are susceptible to the virus. How could Jack and Hayden have hacked so many chips without the White Coats catching on? Unless they were waiting for something like this to happen. At the Garbage Spot, Jack suggested that the government conspires in some transgressive acts. I say that sitting back and letting the Unfavorables destroy themselves fits into that category.
Not all of the rioters are necessarily Unfavorables. They could be fed up citizens ready for change. Urban areas have more resentful individuals than rural Union spaces and suburbia.
It’s actually not too difficult to tell the difference between them. The infected Unfavorables don’t stop for anything. They just attack anything in sight. Other rioters seem more meticulous in their methods, and some sympathizers are here to treat the wounded kids.
“Can we help in any way?” Lexa asks, looking at a pair of kids wrapping another’s severely burned arm with gauze.
“Yeah, prissy,” Gia snaps, “let’s run out and ask someone if we can have a bat. We can start beating people and hope we don’t get shot. Great idea.” For someone who acts so cool at times, Gia isn’t handling this situation well.
“She’s right,” Olivia says. “There’s nothing we can do. We don’t have drugs to knock them out. And even if we did, we’d be leaving them for the Coats to round up or execute.”
“Be like shooting fish in a barrel,” Tyler says. Watching him in the rearview mirror, I see that his face is pale and that goosebumps cover his arms.
Gia continues to creep forward, as much as the cars in front of us will allow her to. I don’t know if there are roadblocks or if drivers are enjoying watching every building on the street torn down or burned to the ground. All except for one building.
A single building, sitting between an electronic shop and a lawyer’s office, remains intact. The letters B.O.G.A.R.T.S. shine above the doors like movie theatre lights. The building is old, perhaps the longest-standing one in this gentrified area. It’s untouched, despite its dilapidated aesthetic.
Olivia sees me staring at Bogarts and says, “It’s a concert hall. Or was. Not sure if any bands play anymore. Not good ones. It would’ve been badass to see AFI there!”
“Why are they not attacking it?” I ask.
“Probably only going after corporate stuff,” Gia answers. “And the authorities.” She makes sense. If Hayden wants to hit the Union where it hurts, he’ll go after the ones with power. Not old, abandoned cultural buildings. That’s the stuff that rebel groups want to preserve.
The sound of pounding on the driver’s side window frightens us. Two angry teens, one with a beanie on and the other with a sideways ball cap on are trying to break through the window. Both of them have wannabe mustaches. They remind me of Billy’s.
“Dude, just roll down the window,” Lexa says. “Maybe we can talk to them.”
Gia says in frustration, “Let’s give them a ride. And if they try to mug us, we’ll drug them. Oh wait, we don’t have drugs. We’re too stupid to bring any protection at all. Maybe we can toss over short stack to them.”
Although Gia’s right, I look back to console Lexa. She’s unaffected by the comments. Tyler, however, is not. He’s shaking and burying his head in Lexa’s lap. I’ve been surprised he hasn’t open his mouth much, and now I know why. He’s terrified.
“Well, Gia,” Lexa shouts, “they aren’t going anywhere. And if you haven’t noticed, we’re trapped. These windows won’t hold out forever.”
“Actually, Gia,” I say, “Lexa is right. This is the first time that hideous nose ring and gnarly purple hair might come in handy.” I reach up and pull the rubber band out of her ponytail. “The purple is cooler when your hair is down.”
Gia doesn’t know how to react to my statement. “Huh?” She works her hand through her hair to pull it down.
“Seriously,” Melli says. “No offense, Gia, but you fit the Unfavorable stereotype. It’s crap that the stereotype exists. Don’t get me wrong. But maybe they’ll see your piercing and hair as a sign of solidarity.”
“All y’all are nuts,” Gia says and shakes her hair out one more time.
“Do it,” I say. “Roll down the window.”
Gia’s outnumbered. “Seriously?” She begrudgingly rolls down the window. The girls in the backseats try to avoid eye contact, while Gia and I acknowledge the kids.
“Sup, girl,” beanie kid says, “tight rhino you got goin’ on.” This makes me laugh inside, but I maintain a serious expression. I was right for once.
“I dig that hair, yo,” the other says. He reaches out to touch her hair, but Gia’s reflexes are impressively quick. She slaps his hand, which has a tattoo of a panda on it. This kid is super tough, I mock him in my head.
“I don’t think so, playboys,” Gia barks. “Now, move along.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” beanie kid says, slapping his friend in the chest. “My boy Tommy over here was just asking me why a tight chick like you would be rolling through in a cash-ride like this.”
“True,” Tommy adds. “Craig says y’all hawked da wheels, but those chicas in the back look soft. So which is it, sista? Y’all hard or
soft?” They exchange childish giggles.
“First, bros,” I say. “She ain’t your sista. Second, these chicas are the ones who ripped off this pile of crap, and they’d kick your scrawny little tails. Take a hike, bros. Especially you, panda boy.”
“Dang, girl,” Tommy laughs and slaps his friend on the back. “These girls mean biz. Where y’all headin’?”
“I told you that tattoo is not cool,” Craig says. “Get it covered, dog.”
“Shut up,” Tommy retorts, then looks at Gia. “Why ain’tchu out there breakin’ stuff wit da rest of ‘em?”
Gia starts to answer, but I cut her off. “We some of the lucky ones. Not hit up by the virus. Makin’ a run for it while we can. Ain’t no use fightin’ here. Can’t win. But we be back.” I don’t even know what I’m saying, but it comes out naturally.
“True, true,” Tommy replies. “A’ight, my boy up da street. His name’s Crow. Holla at him and he’ll help y’all out. Stay tight, yo.” We watch them storm off.
Both of the kids target the car behind us. It’s a u-Laser. They don’t go easy on it. Both grab pipes out of their pockets and beat out the windows. Tommy grabs the driver out of the vehicle. The man’s wearing a suit. Soon enough, a group of boys and girls walks out of a bank and they start kicking the man in the suit. His wife’s wails penetrate our car’s windows.
Tommy and Craig move on to the next. They, themselves, aren’t Unfavorables, but they’re certainly participating in the revolt.
“Anyone who looks rich is in trouble,” I say, wiping sweat from my eyebrows.
“That’s all you’re going to say?” Melli asks, gently slapping my shoulder. “What was that back there?!”
“Seriously, Magz,” Olivia says. “Gangsta-Magz to the rescue!
“Hotshot killed it.” Gia gives me a high-five.
I say, “If not for your, well, whatever look you have going on up there, we’d be in trouble.” Everyone in the car cracks up, except for Tyler, but he does lift himself up into a sitting position. It’s progress.
“But seriously, Maggie. That was awesome,” Melli says.
I nod, but I honestly don’t know how I did it. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. My eye twitched from nervousness, and I went for it out of desperation. And it worked.
“These honks are starting to piss me off,” Gia shouts. “We can’t sit here forever. We ain’t gonna be as lucky the next time.”
“Yeah,” Lexa says, “those guys are right. We’re riding in a moving money machine. We’re going to have to ditch the car.”
Nobody seems happy about this, but it’s true that we aren’t moving. And who knows if we’ll ever be able to move. There could be kids blocking the interstate up ahead. The entire street could be on fire. Coats might be blocking off roads to contain the Unfavorables. One thing is for sure: we can’t stay here.
“Let’s go find that Crow guy,” Melli suggests, searching our faces for approval.
“If we do,” Tyler says quietly, “we should change clothes. At least Melli and Lexa. They don’t look like Unfavorables.”
“Right,” Olivia says, “lose the nice clothes and grab one of my shirts.” She starts digging through her duffle bag.
“Or one of Gia’s,” Melli chuckles.
“Hey now, who’s the one who wore a dress to a riot?” Gia asks, but, impressively, she refrains from berating Melli.
Once everyone’s dressed appropriately enough to pass as a sympathizer or an Unfavorable, we exit the car, taking nothing with us except what fits in our pockets. Bags of clothes aren’t going to matter if we make a wrong move.
As we walk down the sidewalk, none of the infected Unfavorables acknowledge us. They focus on vandalizing buildings and jumping businesspeople, the people who wrongly thought their offices were safe hiding spots.
Emergency sirens give way to the occasional rounds of gunfire, but none of those noises are coming from our street. Either this street is not a top priority or the authorities know it’s already a lost cause. I’d put money on the latter.
Approaching the intersection, I spot a kid dressed in black jeans and a black button-up shirt. It’s untucked and the sleeves are rolled up, exposing tattoo sleeves. The boy’s hair is as black as Olivia’s.
Olivia excitedly says, “That’s gotta be Crow.” She might have just found her soulmate.
“Hold up, hold up.” Lexa sees the Gray Coats about a block away. “We need to be careful. Can we really trust this guy?”
“What choice do we have?” Gia asks, pointing around the intersection. “Look. Coats ahead. Coats to the right. Coats to the left. Not sure it’s worth trying to sneak by.”
“I’m with Gia,” I say, “we have no choice.”
I look back to see Melli lagging behind, accompanying Tyler. I’m sorry he was dragged into all of this. If I had time to feel guilt and pity, I would, but I don’t. As long as he’s surviving, it’s good enough for me.
Olivia timidly approaches the boy with the black hair. “Are you Crow?” she hesitantly asks.
“Who’s asking?” the teen responds. Crow’s black eyeliner and lipstick make his face look paler than it is. And I don’t know how the scrawny teen stays on his feet with those huge gauges pulling his ears down.
“I’m gonna take that as a ‘yes,’” Olivia responds. “I’m Olivia. These are my friends.”
Gia steps up, proud to show off her piercing and hair. I think she’s ready for a fashion showdown. “Your boys Tommy and Craig told us about ya. Said ya could help us.” Gia crosses her arms.
Crow taps his legs and looks to the ground nervously. Then back at us. “I don’t know no Tommy and Craig.” He peeks at the Coats on the corner of the street opposite to us.
“Oh, cut the act,” Gia says. “There’s no one else out here dressed like Edgar Allan Poe. You picked the wrong bird, though.”
“Okay, okay,” Crow says, continuing to survey the scene. “Where y’all need to go?”
“To Kentucky,” I say.
“Ha!” Crow laughs. “Yeah, you and everyone’s mother, sister, brother, and uncle. Get real, here. Look at this place crawling with Coats. Ya came down the wrong street, ladies.”
“Is there anything we can do?” I ask. “Your friends wouldn’t have sent us to you if you weren’t the man, right?” Maybe catering to his pride will help the situation.
“Uhh,” he says, “I mean, you could try the river.”
“The river?” I respond.
“Get down!” Crow shouts as bottles fly at our heads. They aren’t aimed at us, but we’re in the firing line. No one is hit. “Dang. This is nuts. Y’all should get out of here.” Gray Coats sprint across the street, pushing through onlookers, on the hunt for the kids who threw the bottles.
“We’re trying!” Gia shouts. “How do we get to the river?
Crow answers, “Gonne be tough with such a big group. It’d be best to split up. My only advice is to head south. But as ya can see, ya can’t keep strolling down this street.” More Coats take to this street, before an all-out brawl starts up.
“Can you point us to the right street?” Lexa politely asks.
“Yeah, if ya got a helicopter that can take ya about 40 blocks south of here.” Crow continues to scan the scene, legs twitching and fists clenching repeatedly. He understands that we don’t have time for jokes. “Honestly, your best bet’s to walk toward the gunshots.”
“Now, why the hell would we wanna do that?” Gia asks.
“Because the Coats will be preoccupied with the rioters,” I answer. “It’s the logical move, as long as we stay out of the firing line.”
“Boom, sista.” Crow emphatically nods. “Pass normally. Don’t draw attention. And pray ya get lucky. Now get outta here. You’re makin’ me nervous.”
“Thanks, Crow,” Olivia says. Her smile suggests that she wants him to come with us.
“You’ll find another goth kid,” I say and elbow her arm. She playfully frowns, then laughs.
Disappointed and nervous, we backtrack. The street’s in ruins, and most of the rioters have moved on to the next spot, except for the ones who are in the process of being detained. I hack up phlegm as we move through clouds of smoke.
When we arrive at Martin Luther King Drive East, I peer to the left. The intersection no longer is blocked by a pack of infected Unfavorables. Instead, it’s cluttered with infected Unfavorable corpses. Vehicles don’t let the dead kids stop traffic; they run over them to escape the madness. When the intersection gets jammed, cars have no problem stopping right on top of the dead bodies.
We congregate on the corner discussing our next move. “We aren’t really splitting up, are we?” Tyler asks. “I…I…I think we should stay together.”
Melli shakes her head. “No, we’re staying together,” she asserts, “unless anyone wants to go off on their own.” She turns toward Gia.
“Why ya looking at me! I’m with hotshot and short stack all the way!” We all nod in agreement that we have no plans to split up.
We discuss which way to go, but none of us comes to a clear decision. The left is not an option. I can’t bear to face the Unfavorable ruin in the intersection. It would be hard to get by traffic anyway. Straight would lead us to the north. That would be backtracking even further. That leaves right, meaning we’ll have to go by a group of Coats.
“We don’t have a choice,” I say. Everyone agrees.
Carefully, we make our way down the sidewalk. The damage to the buildings isn’t nearly as bad as where we came from. The north side of the road doesn’t have many buildings, and the Gray Coats are keeping the majority of rioters away from the buildings on the south side.
A whistle startles me. “Hey! Excuse me, ladies.” A Gray Coat approaches us. He looks at Tyler. “And, sir. What are you doing on this street? Don’t you see what’s going on here?” His eyes move back and forth between Gia and Olivia. Obviously suspicious, he calls back to one of his partners.
“This isn’t good,” I whisper to the group. “They’re going to recognize me.” Tyler, again, is hiding. This time behind Melli. The rest of us try our best to stay calm. It’s not easy, considering we’re all probably getting arrested. At least I’m the only real Unfavorable. The rest will be safe.