by K. C. Finn
“Maybe when we figure out how to turn off the connection, you can-”
“Just go, will you?” He shrugs me off, coughing to un-crack his voice. “They’ve been buzzing you this whole time.”
I finally unearth the communicator in my pocket. The signal is from Goddie. We both look at the name on the screen as it flashes. When our eyes next meet, a wave of sick heat rises up my throat and into my cheeks. Stirling’s expression is as broken as the rest of him.
“It’s just a patrol,” I say.
Stirling shakes his head. “Not my business what it is. Go and get things done, so I can get out there and fight.”
The pit of my stomach falls. I nod, starting to step away, but Stirling’s Highland burr calls me back.
“Raja?”
“Yeah?” I reply, a lump in my throat.
“Thanks for persuading me to come outside.” He looks up into the trees. There are cracks of blue sky between the hefty green leaves, and the sweat on his pale brow has left him gleaming in the sunlight. “It’s a beautiful day.”
I smile. He smiles. And then I have to leave.
Goddie is waiting at the central marker for our mission to begin. It’s no standard patrol, but a scouting mission, so he’s kitted up in full black and green camo despite the intense summer heat. When I arrive, I spot the grin in his eyes, but the rest of his face is obscured by a balaclava. He throws one at me, along with a green and black striped over-jacket. I catch it and it weighs my grip and my soul down.
“Malcolm’s trying to kill us off, then?” I shrug the jacket on.
Goddie nods, his dark eyes shining. “De man’s insane. We’re going into de wasteland in de hottest drought of de summer in dis getup.”
Maybe he’s preparing us to fight in this heat, because the storm we’ve got brewing is far from easy. When I’m layered up and snug in my balaclava, the world takes on a different view. It’s a letterbox of tree trunks, lines separating green from black, blending my body into the woods like it belongs there. My breath fugs against the slippery fabric as Goddie and I move into the denser trees. He follows a map tablet, an old device that I recognise well. He used to use it when we first met, as Stirling’s second in command. Now, he looks up at me, waiting.
“We good to go, boss?”
Boss. Is it sick that I like the rank I’ve risen to in his eyes? When I think of the horrors I’ve seen that gave me this title, I feel like I shouldn’t be proud of it. But the twitch in my lips comes all the same, and I nod firmly.
Goddie leads us into the trees, and I spy the map over his muscled shoulders. He comes level with me, even though we should be walking in line. His head roves up and down.
“I don’t know how ya manage to make dis look good, but ya do.”
There’s a warmth in my gut that’s nothing to do with the heat of our kit.
“Shut up and focus.”
“I am focusing,” Goddie answers, his voice laced with laughter.
I grab his shoulder and shove him back in front of me. “On the mission, you pain.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what ya up to, girl.” Goddie’s walk takes on a new form, his hips tighter as he marches. “Dis is all so ya can look at me but I can’t do de same. It’s totally unfair.”
I do look, but only because he’s put the thought in my mind. Usually I can take Malcolm’s words to heart about focus, about putting my feelings aside when there’s a job to be done. But Goddie and I have done this march four times already since we set the camp up here, and so far there’s been no result. It could be a long slog, waiting for the right opportunity to hit our target, and the more steps we take, the more my body relaxes. When Goddie comes level with me again, I don’t push him away.
“I can’t help but think about how long this is going to take,” I say, though my words are obscured by the mask over my lips.
“Ya,” Goddie says with a nod. “It makes ya wonder what Prudell’s building next, whilst we’re here trying to take down what she’s already got.”
“Got to be done, though,” I reply. “We don’t stand a chance if we can’t take the Reborn out of the war.”
Goddie takes a breath, like he’s about to speak, but a split-second later a bullet pings by our ears. We drop instinctively, crouched in the brush as we pare off to hide behind trees. His eyes are wide when they connect with mine, but we both have our rifles in position already. I listen a moment, beyond the rustling of the trees.
“What the hell did you do that for?”
“I thought I saw a bear.”
“There’s no bloody bears here. Wild bears died out way before we were even born. Idiot.”
“Sorry.”
Children. The voices are young and squeaky, one boy and one girl. But they have guns, so it’s easy to guess who they are, and where they must have come from. They’re here, in the northern woods, a scouting location that I was sent to by that terrible place that exists beyond the horizon of these trees. That dark cube in the centre of the wasteland, with its tall Bastion and unscalable walls.
“Soldiers of the Legion!” I shout. “Drop your weapons. We have you surrounded.”
There’s a squeal from one of the kids. They squabble a moment, but I hear the thud of weapons landing on the forest floor. Goddie catches my eye and I signal him with a flat palm. He needs to stay back and cover me as I go in. When Goddie nods, I emerge from the trees and take a slow march towards the place where I heard the voices.
Though their black clothes blend well amongst the tree trunks, these young recruits aren’t even wearing their helmets in the heat. When they take in the sight of me – a gun-toting figure head to toe in black with its face covered – I watch the colour drain from their cheeks.
“Kick your guns away, into those bushes.” I snap my head to my left.
The kids comply. They can’t be more than thirteen, and I realise that I’m taller and more heavyset than both of them now. I’m sure I was just as skinny when I first stood where they’re standing, knees knocking in oversized fatigues. My heart trembles a little.
“Please,” says the girl, her pink lips shaking. “Please don’t kill us.”
“I don’t kill children,” I reply. “I’m not Prudell.”
I can’t believe those words have come out of my mouth. Malcolm’s words, buried deep from when we met. And these children are as afraid of me as I was of him. A fear that sat deep in my brain in the dark of night from the moment the Highland General entered my life. I lower my gun, one finger still on the trigger, and slowly peel the balaclava off my head.
“You kids… Are you rejects? South Tower?”
They nod, their whole bodies stiff. The boy has a mop of curly brown hair, his honey-coloured skin beaded with sweat. His fingers are curled at his sides, the knuckles white and shaking. The girl is a little taller than him, her face rosy with heat. When I really look her over, I realise there’s something different about the way her arms droop at her sides. One of her sleeves is empty. Her right arm is totally missing.
“How did that happen to you, soldier?” I ask, nodding at the arm.
“I…” The girl looks down at herself, then coughs. Tears line her eyes when she meets mine again. “I got caught up in a farming machine back home. And then I couldn’t work, so I couldn’t eat.”
I nod. “And whose fault is that?”
Her lips wobble, a sob escaping. “Mine,” she replies, nodding.
“No. It isn’t.”
She sniffs, brows creased. The boy’s eyes grow brighter.
“The System,” he says. “Because we’re outside it, we ended up here.”
The girl shoves him in the side, casting a wary look, but I just nod.
“Are there any more of you on this patrol?” I ask.
Both of them shake their heads immediately.
“Then you two need to come with me. We’re not going to hurt you. Goddie, grab the guns.”
Goddie emerges from the very bush the kids kicked thei
r weapons into. They jump in unison. I’m impressed by his stealth, titanium leg and all. I didn’t hear him moving, but I knew he’d be there. Goddie slings both guns over his broad shoulders, and he removes his balaclava too. He gives the kids a grin as he ushers them forward to walk between us.
“Let me tell you a story on de way back, little ones. It’s about a bunch of South Tower Rejects, and how dey decided dat de Legion wasn’t really der scene anymore.”
Three
“You could literally choose any name in the world for yourself, and you chose that one?” Malcolm Stryker folds his arms, cold eyes bearing down on the young boy we have brought him. “Why?”
“And more importantly,” Goddie chips in, “Why didn’t the Legion stop you choosing it?”
His face is far from stone, lips cracking. He thinks it’s funny. I guess I might too, if I wasn’t standing on the kid’s side of the room, feeling the lightning-hot waves of fury sparking off of Malcolm. He’s damaged already, and this is exactly the kind of stupid thing that could throw him off the edge. I put my hand on the young lad’s shoulder, his trembles pulsing up into my arm. He hasn’t said a word since he gave Stryker his name, but now his little throat bobs, and he makes a choking sound to clear his throat.
“I named myself for you, Sir.”
The boy from the Legion has named himself Malcolm. Our general doesn’t take the news well. He shakes his head, one hand rising to rub his temple.
“The doctor lady who cleaned me up, she said it’d be okay.”
The lad hangs his head, his neck bent stiff. I watch his fingers running over each other, those young hands which have already been trained to fire a rifle.
“Bloody Sheila.” Our Malcolm growls something unintelligible. He strides a few paces away in the tent, throwing himself into a camp chair. “Let me guess. You rebelled against the System, so you ended up sent to the Legion as a troublemaker?”
The boy nods, still not meeting Malcolm’s eyes.
“And what you really wanted to do, rather than become a legionnaire, was to find us and join the revolution?”
He nods again. I can’t understand why Malcolm’s making him feel bad for all this. It’s exactly how I felt at the Legion, how desperate I was to get out and find my family. To bring an end to the terror that Prudell’s reign puts on us all, every day of our lives.
“So tell me, boy, what exactly do you feel about Governor Prudell?”
The kid shrugs, and I let him go. He cracks his neck back, his face breaking a shaky grin.
“She’s a bossy bitch who needs to be taken down.”
Malcolm rubs his temples again. “And you don’t like being told what to do, do you lad?”
“No, Sir,” the boy replies, eyes brightening. “I want to be free. Do whatever shit I want. Just like you, Sir.”
My teeth are on edge. I get it now. Malcolm charges from his seat too quick for me to react. He picks the young lad up by his collar and they change places, the boy thrown into the corner chair.
“That’s not what we do here, kid. Not what I do. If you think breaking out of the Legion and coming to the Highlands is the easy road, you’re much mistaken. People die here. They die if they don’t listen. They die if they don’t work hard. And sometimes, they die even though they were doing everything perfectly. That’s the reality here, laddie. This isn’t your dream come true. And you don’t get to steal my name unless you shut up, work hard and earn it. You’re Boy to me now, got that?”
Boy gulps. “Sir, yes Sir.”
Malcolm turns his back on the kid. He’s not crying, in fact his lips are pulled into a sulky grimace now. Boy curls in the chair, huffing little breaths to himself, giving the rest of us the side-eye. I turn too, following Malcolm with my gaze as he rounds on the one-armed girl.
“And you?” He cocks his head to one side. “Did you name yourself Caitlynne, to show your allegiance to Prudell? Is that what all the cool kids are doing these days?”
“No, General Stryker, Sir.”
The girl’s voice is clear. Her lips are still shaking, her eyes veiled with salt water, but her voice rings like a bell.
“My name is Reagan, Sir. And I just want to stay alive. I don’t care how I do it.”
Malcolm nods, slowly. Goddie has been watching, silent this long while, but now he takes a few steps up and points at Boy.
“Tell me Reagan, does dis joker mean what he says, about wanting to be a rebel?”
“He never shuts up about it,” she answers.
“You-” Boy starts, but once glance from Malcolm silences him.
Reagan coughs, wiping a tear from one eye. “Dr Bartlett said Mal- I mean, he said ‘Boy’ was lucky that Senior Commander Briggs wasn’t there to hear him, or he’d have been beaten to a pulp by now.”
“Sounds about right.” I nod.
“Well, that’s how we ended up out on a scouting mission today,” Reagan adds.
“Explain,” Malcolm says.
“SC Briggs is visiting. He’s making an inspection of how Dr Bartlett’s running the place without him.”
Goddie, Malcolm and I exchange glances at once. At last, there’s some real life in the Highlander’s eyes, though I’m not sure this is what he ought to be excited about. Goddie grabs his radio and, with a quick nod from our general, he slams down a large button and speaks. The speaker in my pocket goes off, just like Malcolm’s does.
“Code Green,” Goddie says. “We’re mobilising right now, soldiers. Dis is it. Subject is in the building and we’re going. Front line march formation, full equipment. Ten minutes.”
Malcolm makes to leave but I grab his sleeve sharply.
“What do we do with these kids?”
“Give them to your mum to babysit with the other non-crew.”
“We’re going then?” I ask. “All of us?”
“All of us.” Malcolm nods. “Say goodbye to the woods for a while, Raja.”
This is it. The moment we’ve planned. The thing we’ve brought every piece of our arsenal to accomplish. Goddie takes Boy by the shoulder when he argues about moving, but Reagan marches beside me in obedient silence. Outside Malcolm’s tent, the world is a blur with camo-clad figures bustling. Our Highland army is much depleted, but there are still a hundred or so of the tall, broad warriors we need. Reagan’s eyes zoom everywhere as I march her through the throng. Weapons are being unveiled and mounted on moving apparatus for transport. Kip races by, his tranquiliser gun looking deadly with its cartridges of translucent liquid on display. Then Stirling bounds past, leaping on his blades, nearly cutting us up.
“Move, by the way!” He shouts back, flashing a grin.
My heart shifts, my pace faster. Reagan tugs my arm as we begin to jog to the nearest clearing.
“Did you do that?” She pants the words out. “Give that boy new legs?”
Her empty sleeve flaps along in the breeze we’re creating.
“We’ll fix you up if we can,” I reply.
It’s not a lie, but I wouldn’t dare tell her the truth. The System gave him those legs, and not because his own weren’t working. When I reach Mumma and Pranjal, they already have the message about mobilisation. My youngest brother is holding a gun. My throat catches, seeing the deadly weapon firm in his grip. Our eyes meet.
“I’m not going to use it unless I have to,” Pranjal says. “But…”
He looks to Mumma, then back to me. She has a few soldiers with her here too, the wounded and the lame. She has Vinesh, my eldest living brother, with his poor blind eyes and torn off ear. He too has a weapon, one of the combat poles we use for close up training. What he might do with it, I can only imagine with horror.
“This is Reagan and Boy, captured legionnaires. Go easy.”
Goddie chucks Boy forward. “Not on dis one. Don’t go easy. Watch he doesn’t try to do something stupid.”
Pranjal nods again. Goddie nudges me, his head already back to the fray. We’re front line in the assault, and we need to get back t
here fast. I race to my mother, kissing her cheek just once. I don’t have time to stop and take in her face before we’re blasting back through the bushes.
“So Briggs,” Goddie says as we smash a path back through the bustle of preparation. “I can’t wait to get dat bastard in chains. Perfect bait for a Rebound. What ya want to do to him when we get him?”
Senior Commander Augustus Briggs has been a thorn in our sides for too long. He’s Prudell’s leading strategist and the commander of her exclusive new P Corps, her personal protection for the System capital of Tania. Taking him down is only one step to the bigger picture, whatever he’s done to me in the past.
“I’ll give him to Stirling to play with,” I reply.
I see it. That shunt in Goddie’s step as he loses pace with me for a second. He looks ahead, jogging in silence now as I spy the outlines of Kip, Apryl and Dad in the trees ahead. Front line formation is taking shape, and there are two gaps left where Goddie and I should be. Mine is between Apryl and Dad, Goddie’s on the far side of Kip, then the line of soldiers spreads out behind and alongside us. A single unit marching straight through the forest and out into the wasteland.
As I take my place, Apryl cocks her rifle and turns to me, eyes wide.
“Have you seen those heavy guns? Where’s Malcolm been hiding those? If I’d known he had that kind of power, before…”
I shake my head. “Once we’ve used them, they’re gone. They’re precious. Getting more would mean stealing them direct from the System.”
“And the Legion doesn’t have anything like this?” Dad asks, leaning in the other side. His face is a map of worry lines, but he holds his gun like a real soldier these days. He’s like me now. He’s seen too much not to be here at the front of things.
“I’d know,” Apryl confirms, shaking her head. “I was there long enough.”
“MARCH!”
The order comes in a bark, Malcolm’s voice breaking with the yell. We set off quick, knowing that once we enter the wasteland we’ll be spotted by the Legion, by the guards on its high walls. Kit is passing down the line as we keep formation, and once we’ve passed the next tree, I grab the packets coming along. Hooks and a rope, one each for grappling. I take mine and pass the heft of the remaining bags down to Dad. He lets his gun hang low as he unpacks his, wrapping the rope around his arm as he opens the hooks of the grapple.
