Zhukov's Dogs

by Amanda Cyr

  Everything clicked in my head. The timing of his disappearances. The charges of drug trafficking on Val’s file. The number on his shoulder scarred by lashes. It wasn’t a date; it was a brand.

  “You were in the cartel?” I asked, dropping my voice to his level.

  Val took a hasty pull from his cigarette and nodded as he exhaled the smoke through his nostrils.

  Two years ago, the S.O.R. sent a team out west to catch the organization turning a profit off prescription medication. It wasn’t just an issue because their redistribution was illegal, though. There was much more to Val’s story, which he was deliberately leaving out.

  Now that I knew who he was, I felt no sympathy for him. I wanted to break him down. I wanted him to confess to the real crime.

  “I remember the headlines, Val.”

  His eyes flicked up to mine then right back to the ground. I saw torment behind them, even when they were deliberately avoiding mine. Oh, the guilt he must be living with was truly impressive.

  When he refused to confess, I pressed harder. “It was all over the news. Expired prescription drugs, mostly tetracycline, linking hundreds of deaths on the west coast together.”

  The fact I was sitting so close to a member of one of the nation’s most notorious drug cartels, and the fact he was even still alive, excited the soldier in me. Over sixty individuals had been rounded up by the S.O.R., interrogated, and either imprisoned or executed. How had this Grey bastard slipped through?

  “I didn’t know,” Val insisted.

  What Val didn’t know was that I’d seen the interrogation footage of his old partners and listened to them scream “I didn’t know” the exact way he did. In the end, they all confessed when less orthodox means of questioning came into play. Darkly, I wondered how long Val would last in a room with a closer and two persuasive Grey Men.

  “It’s my turn to ask a question,” Val said, pulling my thoughts back. He looked over at the heat lamp, his eyes languid and out of focus. His fingers were perfectly still now. “Who are you really?”

  “What do you mean?” I managed to sound genuinely confused, even as I started to panic.

  “Don’t think for a second you’ve got me fooled, Nik Maslow,” Val said, his eyes shifting back into focus as he stressed my name. “I’m playing the game fairly, so why don’t you?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about everything that happened on the bridge the other day. A first-year Black Bloc grunt wouldn’t be that good. I’ve been to D.C., and I know how the Bloc works.”

  “Ever stop to think I might have had training before joining?”

  Val was as willing to give up as I was willing to admit he was right. He rolled his eyes with an impatient sounding huff. “You said you just got into Georgetown. What sort of posh college boy would be able to maintain that sort of high GPA while doing intensive field training?”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Yes, but don’t you dare think I’m an idiot.”

  I had greatly underestimated Val. All this time, he’d been watching me just as closely as I’d been watching him and his friends. I was used to watching Greys during interrogations, not being interrogated by one.

  “Well,” I began, taking great precaution with my words. “What do you think I am?”

  “You’re a killer.”

  “Just like you,” I replied, my voice calm.

  “Just like me.” Val smirked. A large clump of ashes had accumulated at the tip of the cigarette in his perfectly still fingers. He tapped them off, took a drag, then ground out the cigarette on the cement between us. I used the time it took him to exhale the smoke to put together new lies.

  “Okay… I lied,” I began. I took a deep breath like I was actually thwarted and ready to tell him everything. “Remember how I mentioned my folks were architects? Well, the truth is my old man is in the military.”

  “Army?” Val asked.

  That wouldn’t make sense, I thought as I tried to iron out my story. An army soldier hardly spent enough time at home these days to teach their son the moves I’d demonstrated. “Not exactly,” I mumbled. The way Val’s eyes grew let me know he’d already figured out what I was going to say next. “He’s Special Forces.”

  Val shifted quickly to get up, probably so he could whip out his gun and shoot me between the eyes. I grabbed his arms and kept him still, but Val roared loud enough to turn every head in the cavern, “Are you kidding me?”

  “Lower your voice and hear me out!” I hissed, looking around at all the unwanted attention. Fortunately, nobody seemed interested in coming over to see what was going on. Visibly still on edge, Val froze. I kept my hands around his arms just in case he tried to act rashly.

  “I’m not with them. I mean, yeah, my dad is part of evil-team-number-one in your book, and he’s the one who taught me. Won’t lie, he taught me a lot. I’m not like him, though. Seeing how messed up everything is, people like him and what they actually do… That’s the whole reason I’m with the Bloc now.”

  I felt the muscles in Val’s arms relaxing in my grip. His pulse was flying and I could see a light sheen of sweat building on his brow. He dropped his voice as he spat, “You expect me to buy that?”

  “You wanted the truth, so there it is. Christ, this is exactly why I lied to you in the first place.”

  Val stayed silent. It was a risky move, reworking my cover story this far into a mission. It was even more risky telling Val, a fugitive still wanted by the S.O.R., that my father was Special Forces. If there was one thing I’d learned about him since coming to Seattle, though, it was how passionate he was about doing right by his friends. That coupled with his past suggested he was a strong believer in working toward redemption—something my cover story appealed to.

  “Val, I’m not here to hurt anyone,” I assured him. It wasn’t a lie.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I’m just here to help.”

  Val’s eyes darted between mine. I felt his pulse picking up again. “People don’t travel across the country to help strangers.”

  He was right, but I needed to convince him I wasn’t a threat. I swallowed hard and dug deep for emotions and lies. “Back in D.C., I was working myself to death. I was completely burnt out, stressed to the max and ready to snap… Then I heard about what you guys were doing out here. I thought it would be a nice break from everything in the city, so I volunteered.”

  “You were hoping to get a vacation.” Val’s voice was bitter.

  We sat there, stoic and silent, for the better part of a minute. Finally, I loosened my grip on Val’s arms. He didn’t try to run or even pull free. His eyes cut down to where my hands rested.

  “If you hurt any of them,” he said, glancing to where his friends were gathered on the other side of the cavern then back to my eyes, “I’ll kill you.”

  “I won’t. You have my word.”

  Before Val could reply, Gemma called down to us, “Check me out!”

  We looked up to where Gemma stood with Lee at the mouth of the cavern. She struck a pose once she had everyone’s attention.

  “Be careful up there, Gemma,” Fritzi scolded.

  Gemma laughed and tossed down the braided rope of clothing once it was secured high above. I looked to Val as Jayne started the climb. He was staring into the heat lamp, eyes out of focus again and lost somewhere in his own head. I wondered what sort of terms we were on; I seemed to keep going back and forth between the roles of confidant and suspicious person.

  “Just do me a favor, Nik. Don’t cause us trouble.” Val sighed.

  “Trouble?”

  “People like you and me…” He hesitated, as if uncertain whether or not to group us in the same category, like he’d done earlier. “We cause trouble for people who don’t deserve it. Every single day, I worry someone is still out there looking for me, and that they might hurt Anya and the others to get to me… I don’t know what kind of stuff you’re m
ixed up in back east, but don’t get us involved.”

  It had been a long time since I’d felt guilt. I’d like to have said it was a refreshing sensation, but if anything, it came back with a vengeance. “I won’t,” I lied. My thumb grazed over the side of his arm where I still held it loosely. I stopped the small movement, convinced myself it was merely an uneasy reflex, and said, “You can trust me.”

  257 Second Avenue East—Seattle, WA

  Tuesday, November 17th, 2076—8:00 a.m.

  y phone rang at eight o’clock sharp. The noise made my head throb, and I groaned as I rolled onto my back. I coughed to clear my throat of an unpleasant buildup of phlegm. My sinuses were completely clogged, too, and I groaned again. It had been three years since I’d had a cold. Between the lack of daily supplements the Y.I.D. provided and trudging about in the frozen city last night, I couldn’t blame my body.

  Seattle was not kind to me, and neither was my phone, which continued to ring on the floor near my bed. I rolled to my side and reached to retrieve it. The bed screeched as I shifted onto my back again, one hand pressed to my burning forehead and another holding the phone to my ear.

  “Good morning, Nik,” came Aiden’s cheery voice.

  “No it’s not,” I replied with a cough.

  “Have you got a cold?”

  “Spent the night up in the snow.”

  “Why?”

  I looked at Tibbs, snoring in a sound sleep. I didn’t want to risk talking to Aiden about anything work related with Tibbs in the room, awake or not. My silence seemed to indicate I wasn’t alone because Aiden quickly said, “Get somewhere you can talk.”

  “Aiden, I’m sick. If you think I’m getting out of this bed—”

  “It’s important, Nik. Up. Go, go, go.”

  He wouldn’t be my commanding officer for much longer. When my promotion went through, I would see to it he paid for getting me out of bed. I threw my feet over the side of the mattress and onto the cold wood floor. A sudden spell of lightheadedness nearly knocked me back into bed. I pulled one of the old blankets over my shoulders and ambled out into the hall.

  There were only a few rooms in the large house which I’d discovered to be safe to talk, my favorite being the library at the end of the hall on the second floor. The fact almost half of the revolutionaries were illiterate, and that the other half didn’t care for reading, made it a good haven.

  When I fell into the large, red armchair in the corner, a cloud of dust rose around me. I shut my eyes and lounged back, pulling the blanket up to my chin. I nearly forgot I was on the phone.

  “Can you talk now?”

  “Yeah.” I sighed, not even trying to sound alert. “What’s so important?”

  “Just thought I’d let you know something big might be going down in Seattle soon.”

  “That’s not vague at all.”

  “Something really, really big.”

  The Council was bringing the city down. Even in my hazy, fever-plagued state, I picked up on what Aiden was hinting at. Suddenly, I was wide awake. I sat up with a quick intake of breath only to have it catch in my throat and send me into a coughing fit. When I could breathe again I asked, “When are they doing it?”

  “Well, The Council hasn’t officially made a ruling yet, but it’s being decided on as we speak. I’ll call you when I hear the results.”

  Somehow, I’d convinced myself there was no way The Council would lower the city above. It made the mission easier on me morally when I didn’t have to think about whether or not the people I met would be squashed like bugs. Now, I wasn’t sure if I was nauseous because of the news or the fever.

  “Great. Thanks,” I muttered.

  “Look, Nik… I know it’ll suck if they vote to go through with it, but at least it’ll mean you can come home finally. Maybe even as early as tomorrow.” I heard someone calling for him, and my friend bid goodbye, promising to call when he had news.

  I shut the phone and dropped it into my lap. I couldn’t believe it. If the city did fall, nobody would see it coming. Everything would be destroyed. Everyone would be killed. I blamed my fever for the irrational thoughts which followed. Drugs. I definitely needed aspirin or something stronger to take my mind off Aiden’s news. Groaning, I ran my hands through my hair and tugged at the roots.

  The door opened with a creak, and I looked over to see who else used the library. Little Zoe froze in the doorway when she caught sight of me. She kept a hand on the doorknob and stared at me, unblinking.

  I’d yet to hear her say a single word, and anytime I saw her, she stared at me like I was some foreign object she knew didn’t belong in the house. I let my hands fall into my lap and said, “Hello.”

  Even though I knew I was terrible with children, I didn’t expect Zoe to suddenly begin laughing the way she did. She pointed with one hand and patted her head with the other. I rose from my seat and walked to the dusty mirror on the wall, wiping away a streak with the blanket around my shoulders and catching sight of my reflection. When I’d run my hands through my hair, I hadn’t thought about how dirty it was or how my filthy locks would stick up in all directions.

  I laughed and turned back to Zoe, who just laughed harder and ran into the hall. A moment later, she reappeared in the doorway, looking at me expectantly. She waved a hand, and I followed her down the hall to the bathroom door. Zoe tapped the frame and then ran back to the library. The door shut behind her, and I smiled. What a strange child. She would have to learn to communicate with words as she grew up.

  If she gets to grow up.

  I hurried into the bathroom and into the shower, determined not to let it all get to me. The shower helped loosen my sinuses and ease the tension in my chest. When I emerged, I searched the medicine cabinet and found it was filled with bandages, alcohol, and a sewing kit. There wasn’t a single bottle of pills to be found.

  Discouraged but not defeated, I used the bandages to replace the ones already wrapping the cuts on each of my fingers. The fact they hadn’t scarred up yet irritated me. Not only was my immune system letting me down, my entire body was. I’d have to go on a vitamin binge when I got back to D.C.

  I dressed in my last clean pair of jeans and an old, gray sweater I’d salvaged from the pile of clothes in the hall. Still feeling the chills, I grabbed a second sweater before heading off to search the other bathrooms. It was the same in every cabinet; no medicine in sight.

  “Nik?”

  Just the person to ask, I thought as I turned to see Val standing in the doorway.

  The dark circles under his eyes were worse than usual this morning. He grabbed a towel off the countertop, tossing it to me and saying, “You’ll catch a cold if you walk around with your hair all wet.”

  I caught the towel and doubled over to ruffle through my hair. The blood rush when I flipped back upright was almost bad enough to make me fall over, and I had to steady myself with one hand on the counter. I thought I was being discreet; the dubious look on Val’s face assured me I wasn’t.

  “Looks like it’s too late for that,” he said. It was nice to know his attitude wasn’t taking a sick day.

  Tossing the damp towel over the side of the shower, I told him, “I was looking for medicine.”

  “Oh.”

  The single syllable confirmed my theory there wasn’t any in the house. I tried to sigh, but a rasping in my throat turned it into a cough, which turned into a rough hacking. I covered my mouth with the crook of my arm and when the fit stopped, I slumped back against the counter. The relief the shower brought on was fading fast. I felt absolutely miserable, like the city had already collapsed and its entirety was weighing down on my skull.

  “It’s hard to get stuff like that these days, especially down here,” Val said with something resembling sympathy in his voice.

  A short grunt was all I offered in response, not in the mood to put any effort into making actual words. My head throbbed. I tilted it back and shut my eyes to ease some the building pressure. I felt a co
ld hand settle on my forehead. Great. Now all I needed was for Jayne or one of the others to walk by and make assumptions.

  “You’ve got a fever,” Val said.

  His hand moved away and, despite my initial resentment of it being there, I missed the cold it held. When I opened my eyes, he gestured for me to follow him. We went up to the third floor, and he opened a door that led to a bedroom. The single, unmade bed and newspaper clippings covering the wall told me it was Val’s room.

  I stayed in the doorway while he went to his dresser and pulled one of the drawers open. He withdrew a thin, orange tube I recognized as a prescription bottle. As he uncapped the bottle, he turned back and saw I was still half in the hall. Maybe it was my tired eyes playing tricks on me, but I swore I could see the resentment building in him the longer I stood there.

  “You’re really worried about what they think?” he asked.

  “I’m not worried about me,” I told him with a shrug. Personally, I could care less what the others in the house assumed about me. I wasn’t in Seattle to make friends. Val was a different story. “You’re the one who was keeping it a secret from them.”

  “Of course I kept it a secret.”

  “Why?”

  Val laughed, short and bitter. He folded his arms over his chest, wringing the bottle tightly in his closed hand. “It doesn’t bother me what they think. I’ve earned enough of their respect that I could walk around in a tie-dye miniskirt if I wanted and they wouldn’t give a damn… It’s everyone else in this city I’m worried about.”

  I didn’t understand. Val’s tapping fingers let me know an explanation was on its way. His shoulders rolled back, and he stood up straighter as he said, “Remember how I said Seattle wasn’t big on the whole gay thing? Word gets around down here pretty fast, so it’s only a matter of time until everyone knows.”

  “But you’re fighting to make people’s lives easier.”

  “I’m sure it won’t make a difference to a lot of people. I’ve got a good enough reputation down here and all, but…” Val trailed off and bit at the inside of his cheek.

  “It’s the ones who see it as a weakness you’re worried about.”