Rule of Capture

by Christopher Brown

  Underneath the drop was where Turner had come to rest. They had moved him and his truck by the time Donny showed up, but the crater was still there. Not a deep one, but one in which you could clearly see the F and the R from the grill of his F-300 embossed backwards in the cracked asphalt of an empty lot.

  Donny stood there for a while, looking up at the precipice of exposed rebar where the freeway terminus had been slowly crumbling away. He wondered how you could pull such a crazy move unless it was on purpose. The freeway had never been opened to cars. The two entries they completed were gated off, but the thing was such a popular monument to folly that people were always breaking down the gates to walk, ride, or even drive up there, and there were stories that from time to time someone would enter the ramp thinking they were hopping on I-10.

  He walked up there himself to take in the view. He peeked over the edge, and quickly stepped back. Then he approached again, more slowly. The air was crisp, and the breeze a little scary without any railing to grab. But the view, if you looked beyond the crater, was kind of awesome. You could see the bayou, and the way the city grew up around it, public space and private space, infrastructure and industry, houses and apartment towers, and the green that was always trying to come back up, especially in the channels cut by water. He saw it for a moment through Xelina’s eyes. What it must have looked like five hundred years earlier. What it would look like in another five hundred years, or even fifty. How nature and the city weren’t really different things. Or at least they didn’t have to be.

  “Hey,” he said, after taking a minute to remember the number, since the new phone didn’t remember for him.

  “Good morning,” said Percy.

  “Sorry if I woke you.”

  “It’s cool. I was going to call you anyway.”

  “Guess where I am.”

  “Where?”

  He told her.

  “That’s kind of cool,” she said. “But mostly creepy.”

  “Considering what my client just did, I feel like a bit of a creep. Anyway, I thought maybe I would find a clue. But instead I got another idea. One I had at the beginning of this deal, and almost forgot.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Meet me at the office and I’ll loop you in. It’s a way to keep our case alive until we find our client. Hopefully before they do.”

  “It’s Saturday, and we just got our ass kicked.”

  “Actually, we just kicked ass—except for that little client control problem caused by my blabbering lips. All the more reason why we need to keep at it. See you there in an hour?”

  Percy sighed. “Okay,” she said. “Make it two.”

  “Thank you,” said Donny. Then he pulled a nickel from his pocket, tossed it with his thumb, and watched it shimmer in the light all the way down. Turner always told him they had nickel draws in heaven.

  45

  That evening, after they finished drafting the new petition, Percy drove Donny to Iowatown.

  Iowatown was not the official name of the place. That was Domestic Refugee Resettlement Center–Houston East. And it wasn’t a tent camp like you see on TV. It was a suburban subdivision that had been evacuated, fenced off, and repurposed as temporary housing. A gated community meant to keep people in, not out.

  You could see it from the freeway if you knew where to look, but you had to get a good bit closer to really see the differences. The security was pretty lax, since the residents were allowed to come and go—the government at least pretended they were still citizens—but the high fences clearly demarcated the area, and the streets were policed by corporate paramilitaries ready to lock it down on a moment’s notice. The last big lockdown was after the assassination attempt.

  When you got inside, you saw how crowded it was. Rows of single-family factory homes crammed with three or four families. The backyards and front lawns filled with improvised housing for the overflow—shanties made of plywood and Tyvek, metal panel and cinder blocks, the remains of garden sheds and backyard playscapes. There were said to be close to twenty thousand people living in the camp. And yet somehow, despite the chaos of it, it did not look disordered.

  “It’s weird how tidy it is, right?” said Donny.

  “Yeah,” said Percy. “And how white.”

  “Also true,” said Donny, looking out at the gang of corn-fed kids running beside their car as they drove down the main access road.

  “This place is seriously fucked up,” said Percy.

  “I know,” said Donny. “But what’s more fucked up is how they make these people pay their way.”

  “What do you expect? This country loves using prisoners as cheap labor. Why would refugees be any different.”

  “Picking up trash along the freeway is one thing. But those cleanup brigades they send out into the Zone?”

  “Yeah, you couldn’t give me enough safety gear to do that.”

  “I guess that means you’re not going out there with me.”

  “You’ll be fine,” said Percy. “Your body is proven to have a high capacity for poison.”

  “Very funny. This is our turn, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. The place we’re looking for should be down the block.”

  They passed a line of people taking handouts of bottled water and MREs from the back of a truck.

  “I think we’re gonna need to walk from here,” said Percy.

  The street came to a dead end, a cul-de-sac with a few houses around the circle. Between the last two houses was a wide, well-worn path, almost the width of a road, that led into a maze of improvised structures that went back farther than you could see.

  “That’s it,” said Percy.

  “Down that dirt road? How are we going to find our way around in there?”

  “She said there would be a guide waiting for us,” said Percy. “To wait at the entrance and they will find us.”

  Donny gave her a quick doubtful glance as she pulled over, behind a shipping container that had been parked at the side of the street.

  “Come on,” said Percy. “It’s time.”

  They got out. Donny turned up the collar of his suit coat, as if it would help him blend in, but it only made him stand out more.

  They walked down the path, to the entrance of the maze. Percy led them to a spot where a gas camping lantern hung from a pole.

  “We wait here,” she said.

  People were coming and going, many returning with heavy loads of food and water from the truck. Moms and kids, bent old men, sullen teens, and a few angry-looking young men. A security guard walked by in his dark tacticals with the Texical logo on his hat and shoulder, a small military assault rifle strapped on and held low, in patrol mode. He gave Donny and Percy a long lookover as he walked by. And after he had stepped out of sight, you could hear the crackle of his radio. But you couldn’t make out the words.

  “Percy?” said a voice from the shadows.

  “Yeah,” said Percy.

  A tall white kid stepped into view. He wore a ball cap with a picture of a deer skull, a black sweatshirt, and work pants covered in patches. His neck was crazy skinny, the skinny of a kid whose weight had not yet caught up with his rapidly growing height, and Donny wondered how it held up his head.

  “I’m Jared,” said the kid. “Come on.”

  Without waiting, he led them back into the maze. The farther in you got, the tighter the spaces seemed to get, and the more elaborate the shanties were, some layered two and three stories high. There were a lot of people outside in the alleyways, working on stuff, preparing food to share, or just hanging out. There weren’t any security forces in sight, and you got the sense from the residents that their minders didn’t come back in there much. That didn’t stop Jared from walking so fast it was hard to keep up. Especially in lawyer shoes.

  “Up there,” said Jared, stopping suddenly, then pointing at a ladder in the wall to their right.

  Donny looked at the ladder, and followed it up the side of a structure that looked like
a post-apocalyptic variation on neo-Tudor, with an exposed frame of salvaged timbers and big patches of sheetrock and concrete that looked ill-balanced and maybe on the verge of falling right on top of them. The ladder, which was really just a series of handholds, went to a door about two-thirds of the way up.

  “You go first,” said Percy.

  “Why not,” said Donny.

  He didn’t look back until he reached the little portal, and a woman’s hand reached out to pull him through.

  “You must be Tara,” he said.

  She nodded. She was tall, too, with long black hair pulled back, Eurasian features, a black hoodie, jeans, and black work boots. “Where’s the lady I talked to?”

  “Right behind me,” said Donny, as he helped Percy up, and then Jared.

  The room was small and the ceiling low. They had painted the ceiling sky blue, as if that would keep you from bumping your head. The walls were covered with a multi-artist cartoon variation on the Garden of Earthly Delights. The floors were covered with carpet remnants repurposed as rugs, the only furnishings some big pillows and a couple of beanbag chairs.

  “Thank you for meeting us,” said Donny, once they were all there.

  “I already regret it,” said Tara, sizing up Donny. “But you said I could help Xelina. So let’s talk.”

  She took one of the beanbag chairs, and invited them with a gesture to join her on the floor. The kid stayed standing, alternately watching the door and Donny and Percy.

  “Well, here’s the deal,” said Percy. “Xelina escaped.”

  “I heard,” said Tara.

  “And we need to find her,” said Percy.

  “I can’t help you with that,” said Tara.

  “If we can find her, we can still save her,” said Donny.

  “You just said she already saved herself,” said Tara. “She’s probably in Matamoros by now.”

  “I doubt that,” said Percy. “We had to get through four checkpoints just to come here. The city’s on lockdown.”

  “Her and Clint know how to find their own paths,” said Tara.

  “I bet they do,” said Donny. “But they don’t need to. We already won her case. Instead, they’re in more danger now. The people who came after her the first time will be pursuing her even harder. I’m worried they won’t come out of this alive.”

  Tara considered that. “Those were some scary dudes.”

  “You were with her when they picked her up the first time?” said Percy.

  Tara nodded. “I still don’t understand why they only took Xelina, and left me and Bar.”

  “Maybe they wanted you to tell the scary stories,” said Donny.

  “Or maybe they needed more evidence,” said Percy.

  “They didn’t seem like the types who care much about evidence,” said Tara. “Or warrants. Or even badges.”

  “Uniforms?” asked Percy.

  Tara shook her head. “Street clothes. Like expensive outdoor gear. And one wore a suit. Like you.” She nodded at Donny.

  “Did they say who they were?” asked Percy.

  “Yeah, sort of. Called themselves ‘the Squad.’ But they didn’t say who they worked for. They were all young white guys, real clean-cut, in a mean kind of way. Just one of them a little older, with some grey.”

  “Six of them?” said Donny.

  “Yeah. And I think a couple of them were the same guys who were there when they took out Gregorio.”

  “You sure?” said Percy.

  “No, I’m not, because that time they were wearing masks. But I recognized the clothes. And the swagger.”

  “An extrajudicial lynch mob,” said Percy, looking at Donny.

  “Exactly,” said Tara.

  “You saw them kill Gregorio?” asked Donny.

  Tara nodded.

  “And could you identify these two guys if you saw them?”

  “I think so,” said Tara.

  “Will you testify?” asked Donny.

  “No fucking way,” said Tara. “Everybody knows that courthouse doesn’t have an exit.”

  Percy looked at Donny.

  “If they didn’t take you when they had the chance,” said Donny, “I don’t see why they would now. I think I can keep you safe.”

  “This is so much bigger than Xelina, y’all,” said Tara. “Don’t you get it?”

  “We get it,” said Donny. “It’s about the elections.”

  “No,” said Tara with a sneer. “The elections are just a distraction. Maybe you haven’t been out to the Zone.”

  “Only to the edge,” said Donny.

  “Then you have no idea. You should see what they’re doing out there. I mean, I don’t even know what it is, but they look like giant robots. Like something out of a movie.”

  “Giant robots?” said Percy.

  “I’ve seen it,” said Jared. “It’s an eviction. To make room for the machines.”

  “While they corral us behind fences,” said Tara. “Make us do the scut work the robots can’t do. And then when we’re too worn out to do that, they’ll probably feed us to them.”

  “Come on,” said Donny, looking at Percy with raised eyebrows. She kept a poker face.

  “Tell me you haven’t heard the noises,” snapped Tara.

  Donny considered that.

  “They’re planning something big out there,” said Jared. “The elections won’t matter.”

  “Okay,” said Donny. “Maybe we need to check that out. If I promise to do that, will you tell us where Xelina is hiding? I can keep her safe if I can just get her to come back to the courthouse with me on Monday.” He held his hand to his heart. “I swear.”

  “Even after the escape?” said Percy, and Tara looked at them sharply.

  “I have a plan,” said Donny.

  “Maybe we need to make our own plan,” said Tara. “And take the fight to them.”

  “We don’t need another action like that,” said Donny. “I have one client dead because of that kind of thinking.”

  “I knew I recognized you,” said Jared.

  “Yeah?” said Donny, losing patience.

  “Yeah. I saw your picture in the news. It’s your fault Jerome’s dead.”

  “Thanks, kid. I’d almost forgotten.”

  “Jerome was my friend, man. He helped us out. Gave us a path out of here.”

  “I understand. He was my friend, too.”

  “Well, you let him down, man. Probably because you don’t get it. The whole thing was a setup.”

  “How’s that?” said Donny.

  “Jerome didn’t give Bill and those guys the guns, or the plan. It was these same guys Tara’s talking about.”

  “What?”

  “How do you know?” asked Percy at the same time.

  “Because I was there. With Bill when he had one of the meetings and I was gonna help, and then later. And I know those were some of the same guys.”

  Donny processed that.

  “False flag?” said Percy.

  “Totally,” said Tara. “Everybody knows it.”

  “Nothing quite so convenient as a terrorist emergency when you want to get things under control so you don’t lose power,” said Donny, as much to himself as anyone in the small room.

  “So what are you going to do about it?” said the kid.

  Donny looked at him. “I’m gonna get you to help me find those bastards, that’s what. But first you are going to tell me where Xelina is.”

  46

  To get to the hideout the next morning without being seen, they had to walk up a paved creek through the secret backside of some subdivision on the far southeast side, in the heart of Gregorio’s old Council district and right at the edge of the Evac Zone. The creek was mostly dry, littered with the occasional shopping cart or lost tire, but it went on much longer than they expected. They took a wrong turn at one point and found themselves in a big homeless camp back at the end of one fork of the creek, dozens of tents and lean-tos made from found materials. The people seem
ed friendly, and when Donny asked directions, they weren’t sure what place he was talking about, but they told him where the channels of the creek would go.

  As they continued on, a small black dog followed them, first at a distance, then closer, quiet and non-aggressive. Donny tried to shoo it at first but Percy said leave it be. Maybe it will show us the way.

  Another forty-five minutes and two more wrong turns walking down in there, as the morning sun started to get hot, Donny wondered if it was a stupid idea to wear a suit. He had honestly thought they were headed to an apartment building, and might end up dealing with the law before the day was out. Now he wondered if he had stepped into some even bleaker future than the one he was living in, and by sundown the suit would rediscover its hunting attire roots as they scrabbled to survive in the ruins. Seeing how many people already lived like that, hiding in plain sight in the ruins of the right now, made you realize how adjacent that reality really was. He imagined himself trapping nutria at dusk, long hair held back by a necktie repurposed as a headband—

  “I think this is it,” said Percy, interrupting his post-apocalyptic daydream.

  She was behind him, pointing at a graffiti tag he had walked right past. There were so many down in this urban canal, and they all looked so similar to Donny, it was easy to miss one.

  This one was different, though. It was a stencil. A mastodon in bright red spray paint, its tusks pointed in the direction they were supposed to go. Just like Tara and Jared had told them.

  They appraised the path before taking it. It was a narrow trackway leading through tall weeds, up what looked to be a smaller tributary creek. This creek seemed wet, with a trickle of water emptying out onto the concrete channel.

  “You go first,” said Percy for the second time in two days.

  “Okay,” said Donny. He looked around for a rock or a stick or something that would serve as a defensive weapon in a pinch, and settled for a broken-off chunk of concrete he put in the side pocket of his suit coat. Percy watched him do this, at once amused and mildly approving.

  Donny almost tripped as he walked in there, and looked down to see an old section of chain-link fencing unmoored from its pillars and trampled onto the ground. It had been there long enough that the weeds were growing up through it. He looked forward, then back at Percy.