Guardians

by Susan Kim

  “True,” Skar replied. She had always enjoyed watching her partner try on ornaments and show them off, but tonight, she was in no mood. “Esther gave Gideon the freedom to do what he wanted. She is only interested in her own plans. But I’m worried that something bad is happening.”

  “So stop worrying. Do something.”

  Skar realized that her partner was right. It was no good brooding and keeping her suspicions to herself; she had to find out for certain whether or not she was right. Yet that was not so easily done. Skar herself could not go down and find out what was going on; as the only variant in the District, she was far too noticeable.

  Spying had been a common practice among her people, an effective way to see what rivals were planning and to prevent attacks. As leader, her brother, Slayd, had orchestrated many such missions and kept their people safe as a result. When she was little, Skar had watched him countless times and learned. Now it was her turn to put into practice what she had picked up.

  Hours later, after Michal had fallen asleep, Skar slipped down the hallway, the carpeting cool and soft under her bare feet. Although it was pitch-black, she knew the layout well, and moved silently three doors down. She gave a soft tap on the door, then turned the cool metal knob.

  Moonlight poured through the curtainless window. Silas was already sitting up, squinting at having been awoken so abruptly, his hair standing on end. Although he looked surprised to find Skar standing in front of him, he knew better than to say anything.

  “You are a good stealer,” Skar said, without wasting any words. It was true: The boy had broken into many buildings, plundered corpses, and been adept in a world that sometimes required nefarious action.

  Silas blushed and began to protest. “I ain’t stolen nothing! Not from here, anyway. So if anybody says, they’re lying. I—”

  Skar put up a hand. “I am not here to punish you.”

  Silas stopped. His eyes, wide and unblinking in his thin nine-year-old face, watched her carefully.

  “I want you to steal something for me.”

  The boy relaxed; he even chuckled. “Why didn’t you say? That’s easy. What do you want?”

  Skar’s voice was serious. “Information.”

  It wasn’t hard for Silas to blend in on the main floor of the District.

  By midmorning, the mall was packed with eager customers. From above, it looked like a sea of dirty, billowing robes that were belted at the waist and draped around heads. Similarly attired and wearing mirrored sunglasses, Silas squeezed his way unnoticed through the crowd as people crushed against booths, examined merchandise, then stood in line to haggle and buy things with their pieces of glass. He skirted past other Outsiders who were working: sweeping the floor, replacing windowpanes, or lugging cans of gas to the generator.

  It was so easy to get around, Silas marveled; maybe too easy. Because as Skar had suspected, he was beginning to think that the real problem, if there was one, wasn’t to be found on the ground level.

  Silas found himself gravitating toward the twin metal staircases that led to the lower level. That was where he had once followed Joseph’s cat and found a room full of garbage and a human skull, where he had learned what the adults had eaten in order to survive.

  Still, Silas liked challenges. And this one, he thought, seemed like it would be a lot more fun.

  Yet making it downstairs proved to be much more difficult than he had assumed. Standing at either side of the glass-encased stairs were four Insurgents. Two openly held clubs, and Silas was certain that the others had weapons hidden in their pockets and beneath their robes. Pretending to examine merchandise, he watched as a boy approached them. One of the guards patted his robes and spoke a few words to him. The boy took out a knife and handed it over. Only then was he allowed past.

  As one of Esther’s friends, there would be no way for Silas to simply barrel past. He would have to be more clever than that.

  His unique talents were about to come in handy.

  Silas swiveled around as if making up his mind what to buy and saw he was facing a particularly busy stand. People crowded around a table that was heaped with the usual welter of goods: shoes, packets of food, bottles of water, furnishings, clothes. Taking advantage of his small size, Silas managed to snake his way through to the front. There, he saw a tangled pile of the small objects that strapped to the arm: “wristwatches,” he had heard them called. Joseph owned several that he wore every day, Silas knew, and was forever fussing over them.

  A girl of about twelve was laboriously counting out what seemed like an endless amount of glass. Her new purchase, a watch made of gold and silver metal, was already fastened to her wrist with a pink band.

  To anyone who was watching, the little boy who stood beside the girl was gravely examining the selection of shoes for sale. In reality, Silas was reaching up one thin hand. With fingers as light as silk, he tugged at the end of the leather strap until it pulled free of the tiny loop that secured it. Then he bumped into the girl.

  “Hey!” Silas whirled on the surprised person behind him. “Stop pushing!” He then turned back to the girl, who was now glaring at him. “Sorry,” he said. But in that one moment, Silas had managed to pull at the strap on her wrist and release it from the metal pin that held it in place.

  The wristwatch dropped into his palm.

  Without drawing attention to himself, Silas moved away as swiftly as he could. Moments later, he heard exactly what he wanted.

  “Hey! My watch! Stop him!”

  As the girl’s screams echoed through the giant marble atrium, all of Gideon’s guards sprang into action. From every corner of the mall, they ran forward, shoving people aside and drawing out their weapons. But Silas had already slipped the watch into the hands of an unsuspecting boy, younger than he. Perplexed, the boy was now holding it up in the air . . . but before he could stammer out an explanation of what had just happened, the mob descended.

  Silas ran past the crowds who were racing the other way. He felt a brief flicker of guilt for the innocent boy, whose screams were even now being drowned out by the sounds of his beating. Then he shook it off. The twin staircase in front of him was momentarily unguarded. Silas flew down the steep, grooved metal steps, taking two at a time, his hands skimming the hard rubber banisters.

  When he reached the basement, Silas ground to a halt. Then he slipped around a corner.

  Across the food court, he saw a crowd of people gathered together outside a closed door. It was mostly older males, standing in a restless line. The door was cracked half-open. Flickering light and thumping, rhythmic music wafted out from within. The sounds were completely unlike the gentle tones he had remembered the adults dancing to when he and the others first came to the District.

  Whenever anyone exited the room, a new one was allowed in. Those who emerged acted strangely: red faced and glassy eyed, they stumbled and clung to the wall. A few of them laughed for no reason at all and more than one had been sick, the fronts of their robes stained with vomit. As they passed the corner where Silas hid, he could smell the overpowering liquid that the adults used to drink on occasion. The one time Silas had tasted it, he’d found it so unpleasant he had spat it out onto the floor, to the laughter of the leader Inna and the others. Still, he thought, those stumbling by seemed to enjoy it well enough.

  “Next! Keep moving!”

  A boy supervised the goings-on; he stood on the threshold releasing old customers and bringing in new. To his shock, Silas saw that it was Eli. He had not seen the older boy in many weeks, not since the District had been divided. His friend seemed transformed, and not for the better: He was pasty faced and sickly and had dark circles under his eyes.

  At that moment, Eli propped the door open to talk to someone and noise, light, and smoke, the pungent kind Aras once used, poured out. Silas ducked back, to avoid being seen. But for that instant, he had been able to catch a glimpse of the murky room, lit by flickering torches. He noticed that tables were crowded together, a
nd people sat around them, drinking from glasses. Heavy and insistent music throbbed, competing with a clatter of voices that were talking, laughing, shouting. Then Eli escorted in another boy and the door closed behind them.

  Although more boys and a few girls were heading toward the guarded room, Silas noticed others walking in another direction, continuing farther down the hall. He slipped in after two of them, boys who butted each other with their shoulders, as if sharing a private joke.

  “I heard a lot about this place,” Silas heard one murmur. “It just open up.”

  “Me, too. Can’t wait. Just hope I got enough.” Silas could hear him jangle a few pieces of glass around in his pocket.

  “How do I look?” The first attempted to comb his tangled hair with dirty fingers, then turned to the other for an appraisal.

  “It don’t matter,” the other one said, and laughed. “She got to like you, right?”

  Silas caught up to them as they came to the end of the next corridor. Ahead were two narrow doors, outside of which a smaller group of boys congregated.

  Silas hid behind a pillar he suspected was too close for comfort. He feared he wouldn’t have any time to see what was going on before being discovered. Still, he had no choice.

  After several minutes, one of the doors opened and a boy emerged. He did not seem affected by drink as Eli and the others had, although he was grinning. Silas peeked inside the room, which was narrow and dark, perhaps a former closet. In it he glimpsed what looked like bedding heaped on the floor. Standing above it, a girl in a white T-shirt and tousled hair was pulling her shorts back up. She had an absent expression and her face was pale.

  Standing outside, as if supervising, was the Insurgent girl called Nur.

  “Next,” she said.

  As another boy paid her with glass, went in, and shut the door, Silas drew back behind the column. Although he didn’t know what he had just seen, he had a tight feeling in his stomach. He hoped Skar would be able to explain when he described it. Then he glanced up.

  Someone was approaching.

  A teenage boy was coming down the hall. He wasn’t headed to the room in question; Silas could tell by the way he walked. There was nothing either eager or aimless about his gait: Cutting his way through the crowd, he seemed intent on reaching Silas, upon whom he had locked his gaze. He was dressed in white and, as he came closer, Silas could see a streak of white in his hair, too.

  He could also see a gun.

  Without missing a step, the older male had leaned down and in one fluid motion pulled a weapon from near his ankle. Now only feet away, he lifted it, taking aim at Silas’s chest. Those on line outside the rooms hadn’t noticed and continued to talk and laugh.

  Silas shrank back and, by instinct, threw an arm in front of his face, knocking his hood back as he froze in fear. He locked eyes with the older boy, who stopped and, all at once, seemed unnerved. His expression, which had been stony, softened; Silas could swear he almost smiled. Still, he kept the gun raised.

  And fired.

  The explosion echoed in the hallway, causing a commotion from those standing around. Silas, who had squeezed his eyes shut in terror, heard the zing of the bullet as it whizzed past his ear; he opened them only when he realized he hadn’t been hit. As he looked around, stunned and confused, he saw that several feet behind him, bright red bloomed against the wall, dripping down in rivulets.

  A moment ago, it had been a rat.

  Silas stared up at the gunman, still petrified. The boy in white met his eyes and gave a single impatient nod that clearly meant go. Silas forced himself to move, turning away and fleeing back the way he had come, toward the double stairs.

  He didn’t dare look behind him.

  Trey tossed what remained of the dead animal on the tiled floor.

  Gideon recoiled. “What that?”

  Trey shrugged. “You got pests.”

  Gideon pursed his lips. “You come here for a rat?”

  “What I meant is you got somebody snooping around. Downstairs.”

  There was a moment before Gideon replied. “Who?”

  “Don’t know. He got away.”

  The two boys were alone in Gideon’s tiled office. Trey was inspecting his own clothes for any trace of the rat’s blood or gore. Mostly, though, he wanted to avoid the other boy’s eyes because he was a bad liar. He didn’t lie often—he didn’t have to, at least not about missing his target, for he rarely did. But the gunman didn’t kill small children. That was the only rule he had and no one needed to know it. Let Gideon think he had failed, Trey thought.

  “Got away?” Gideon’s voice was sharp. “How that happen?”

  Trey shrugged again. “Like everything else in this life. No reason.”

  Gideon turned away. But what he said next surprised Trey.

  “Esther up to something.”

  Puzzled, Trey could only nod. He had heard Gideon talk about this girl before, whoever she was; he seemed to blame her for everything bad that happened. Trey had been rejected by his share of females before; he merely moved on to the next, for there were always more. He couldn’t understand the boy’s obsession with one person or his inability to let go.

  “She aim to destroy me.” Gideon had turned back to face him, although he seemed to be speaking to himself. “Ain’t happy with what she got. She try to squeeze me out.”

  Trey located a fleck of dirt on his sleeve; he had to use his fingernail to work it loose. He suspected that Gideon was going to ask him to do something, something that had to do with this girl Esther. Avenging a broken heart seemed a foolish waste of his skills, Trey thought. But Gideon was the boss, and so Trey would do whatever he wanted.

  “You want me to get rid of her?” he said at last.

  Gideon shook his head. “Not now,” he said. “Maybe later. But right now, she too important. People like what she do upstairs. I hear it.” Gideon thought for a minute. “Just get her to stop spying. Lean on her. Use your little gun, if you got to.”

  Trey considered this. He figured Gideon was exaggerating the situation. Still, this Esther obviously had spirit. Most girls could be undone by a smile or a few sweet words; maybe this one would be a challenge.

  “I got a better way,” he said. “Girls like me.” He winked, but Gideon didn’t smile. The gunman sighed; the boy was all business, no fun.

  “Maybe this Esther lonely, I mean,” Trey said. “Maybe she need a boy to take her mind off her worries.”

  “And that boy would be you?”

  Trey shrugged. Gideon’s eyes swept up and down Trey’s body in a way that made him feel odd. Yet Trey realized there was only calculation in it, as if he were a piece of jewelry or clothing to be priced.

  “You tell me stuff about her,” Trey said, “and I carry the facts in case I need them. Like my . . . little gun.”

  He smirked, but Gideon’s expression was serious. “I know plenty about her.” Trey let the other boy speak: Esther had a mutant child. Her partner had left her for another girl. There were other details that he dutifully noted. When Gideon was finally finished, Trey noticed that Gideon was out of breath and red in the face.

  “We good?” the boy in white asked.

  “Yeah,” Gideon said.

  “Then it settled.”

  But Trey wasn’t finished. When people wanted things, he thought, they were at your mercy. He smiled now, his teeth gleaming.

  “But it’s gonna cost you,” he said, “extra.”

  Esther sat on the top step of the dark staircase, Kai in her lap.

  It had been a while since she had had time alone with her son. Sarah was in their room, tucked up in her crib. The rest of those needing her care were at long last asleep. There wasn’t a sound in the entire District; everyone was gone or settled for the night. Esther hadn’t even felt the need to bring a torch with her. She and the boy rested in the stillness, which seemed peaceful and unending.

  She heard something before she saw it.

  Someone had en
tered the stairwell far below. Alert, Esther peered through the darkness, all of her senses straining; after a few moments, she saw the distant flicker of light throwing deep shadows. As whatever it was approached, she saw that it was pale and moved in a deliberate way.

  For a shocked second, Esther thought of Pilot, Aras’s dog. Had the animal returned?

  As the shape grew nearer, it became more distinct. As Esther’s eyes adjusted, she realized it was no dog but a boy she had never seen before. He was a little older than she was, seventeen she guessed, and dressed all in white, which gave off a soft glow by the light of the candle he held. When he rounded the final landing and saw her, he stopped as if expecting to find her there.

  “Evening.”

  Esther nodded, not responding, Kai stirring a bit in her arms. The boy had a strange white streak in his hair, too.

  “I’m Trey,” he said, and climbed to the top.

  “Esther.” The boy was nodding even as she spoke. He fumbled in his pocket and drew something out. It took her a moment to identify it in the flickering shadows: It was the round tin of the lemon drops she had once tried to get for Kai.

  “Care for one?”

  “I don’t have enough glass.” Esther was surprised to find she was still annoyed.

  “It don’t cost you nothing. It’s mine.” He opened and offered the tin. When she didn’t touch it, he reached in and placed a piece of candy into her hand. The brief touch was startling; his slender fingers were unexpectedly soft. “Actually, that ain’t true. It’s yours.”

  As he handed her the round can, he smiled, and Esther had to admit, he was handsome when he did it. She found herself smiling, too, even though she didn’t want to; she still didn’t know who this boy was or what he wanted. Neither accepting nor rejecting the gift, she placed it on the step below her, the child stirring in her arms. Kai had woken up, although she wasn’t as annoyed by this as she normally would be.