Hellcats: Anthology

by Kate Pickford

  “In the City?” I couldn’t imagine feeling safe on the streets, not with the Patrols posted on every corner. And the dilapidated skyscrapers weren’t strangers to Patrol raids either…

  “Not in the City. I’ll give them an excuse for why your body is missing, but they might come looking. You need to go somewhere they won’t find you.” She hesitated. “Beyond the Edge.”

  My eyes widened. “But that’s—”

  “Illegal, I know. But it’s the only way. If the Patrols catch you during a routine check and see your Deathday has passed…”

  I stared at Mom; the tightness in my chest made it almost impossible to breathe. I knew our reality, and it made me lightheaded. An image of the Patrols’ shiny white guns glistening at their waists swam to the forefront of my mind. I suppressed a shudder.

  “I know you’re afraid. But they could do so much worse than shoot you on sight…”

  “Worse?”

  “They’d interrogate and torture you…they’d want to know how it happened, how you survived. And I won’t let them do that to you.”

  “But I don’t know how—” A sudden thought struck me. “They’d connect me with you. And Luis.” The color drained from my face. “They’d come for you.” And they’d come for Everett and Alma, the siblings next door who were more like family than friends to me.

  Mom pressed her lips together but said nothing.

  “I won’t let that happen.” I glanced around the kitchen. “Where is Luis, anyway?”

  “I sent him out to school early. I didn’t want him to be here when…” Mom didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t have to. She didn’t want him here when they came for my body. But now that I hadn’t died, she’d have to deal with a twelve-year-old asking how his big sister was still alive when she definitely shouldn’t be. How he’d be able to keep that kind of secret from the kids at school was beyond me. No, Mom was right. I needed to go. Now.

  I embraced her, letting her sweet cinnamon scent wash over me. “We’ll meet again.” I blinked the moisture out of my eyes and grabbed my trusty knife off the counter—an elegant black needle point blade with a curved handle resembling a cat’s tail that I’d received from the Government ten days before my Deathday. I tucked my hair into my collar and left my childhood home for the last time.

  Now, on the streets of the Second City, I had to figure out my next steps. I was one of the few who insisted on using the City’s old name—Chicago—but that was often met with averted gazes and whispers, which I promptly ignored. A spade’s a spade, and that’s what I called it.

  I slunk through the backstreets of River Sector, my worn black ankle boots crunching through the day-old, dirty snow. Long-abandoned skyscrapers lined the dilapidated avenues, their glassless windows following my every movement like eerie, sightless eyes. The digits on my wrist, an angry poison-green just yesterday, had now faded into a muted shade of gray. My mid-length dark brown hair and curtain bangs were disheveled, and my wrist was sensitive to the touch. But I was alive.

  I wrapped my black coat tighter around me, watching my shallow breaths materialize in tiny clouds before me. It was safer to travel through the alleys. I dodged low-hanging wires and jumped over pieces of rubble the size of small boulders with ease. There was a reason they called me Hellcat.

  As I walked, I mulled over this morning’s events. What if Deathdays weren’t a force of nature, like we’d been taught? What if humans weren’t born with them? I’d never questioned it before, but forces of nature don’t just mess up and not kill someone when they’re supposed to, right? And if they weren’t a force of nature…what were they? Did the Government have something to do with them? An icy wave seared through my body. If they were a man-made creation, then I wasn’t safe anywhere. My Deathday branded me, and I’d be hunted like a deer as long as I lived.

  I steadied my breath. Mom was right. I had to find shelter and disconnect my comp. Only once I was safe, I would lie low for a few days, then try to hack back into the system to figure out why the hell I’d survived past my Deathday. I had to do this. For Mom, for Luis, and most of all, for what they did to Dad…

  But safety and shelter were my priorities. I couldn’t do anything with a bullet in my brain. It was easier said than done, though, as I saw a plainclothes Patrol in every passing citizen. What if they looked at my wrist and saw the grayed-out digits? All of a sudden, these streets—and this City that I’d called home and roamed freely for years—seemed threatening. Dangers now lurked in every face, in every shadow.

  I paused in front of a derelict skyscraper, its crumbling façade swaying precariously in the howling wind. I pushed open the fire-escape door and coughed as I inhaled a plume of dust. Not exactly the shelter I’d had in mind, but it’d do for now—at least until I disconnected my comp.

  Perching at the top of the first flight of stairs, I pulled the device out of my coat pocket and opened it, flexing my fingers against the bitter indoor chill.

  The familiar login screen flashed before me.

  Username: Hellcat

  Password: *************

  I was in! My fingers flew across the tiny keyboard, beads of sweat rolling down my temples despite the icy temperatures. I initiated the disconnection sequence and held my breath as the program I’d coded with Dad worked its magic. A message flashed on my screen: ‘Status: disconnected.’ I breathed a sigh of relief. Even after all these years, the code was failsafe.

  And now, for the fun part. I browsed through my system files until I reached the root/administrator folder. And there it was. The citizen database. I navigated to my profile and edited my details. Goodbye Em Vega, hello Penelope Clark. Deathday in thirty-eight years. A Timeless. Bingo.

  That should throw the Patrols off during a routine comp and ID inspection.

  But there was one problem.

  Changing my digital identity wouldn’t save me if the Patrols decided to check my wrist… I swallowed hard and stared at the pale gray numbers, solid and unforgiving. Then I shoved my black sleeve down and pushed the thought away. If I could only find shelter, someplace truly safe, I wouldn’t have to worry about Patrol inspections…

  My stomach growled, reminding me that I’d overstayed my welcome in the decaying building. I jumped to my feet and crept back into the alley. If I had any chance of swiping some fresh food tonight and finding shelter, I had to get to the market fast, while the sun still peeked through the foggy December haze.

  The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the streets long before the market came into view. My mouth watered. We were hardly ever able to afford baked goods straight from the oven. I was more used to three-day-old bread that had a peculiar affinity for chipping my teeth.

  After leaping over a fallen lamppost and several containers, the alley opened up onto Market Square. My eyes adjusted to the hubbub as I took in the view before me.

  Muted tones of teal and slate gray dominated the scene—mainly work attire and jars overflowing with beans that bordered on inedible. They were interrupted by a few russet cloths hanging from the textile stalls, billowing back and forth in the biting winter wind. Banners bearing a black eagle on a deep red background—the national emblem—hung around the square in regular intervals, peppering the snowy landscape with streaks of harsh color, like crimson blood on a pristine hospital gown.

  I scanned the crowds for a mark, finally settling on a man with salt and pepper cropped hair and the shadow of a stubble. The golden buttons on his double-breasted navy coat reflected the candlelight dancing in the nearest stall, and his polished boots gleamed in the dirty snow. A small smile played on my lips. A Timeless by the look of him. His Deathday was sure to be in another thirty or forty years, at least. It was no use stealing from Fleeters like myself, with Deathdays early on in life. No, he was a Timeless, and he’d be perfect.

  I began my measured approach toward the man, trying not to draw attention to myself. Every citizen was now a threat. I knew I wasn’t safe here, but I had to eat.
I picked up several fresh bread rolls and two juicy red apples as I went—I couldn’t resist. The man eyed the stall filled with expensive spices: powdered ginger, cumin and spicy chili by the looks of it. In other words, delicacies the likes of me—born and bred in the poorest River Sector—couldn’t even dream of.

  Just as I was assessing whether a simple pickpocket or an elaborate con would work better on my mark, a troop of uniformed men caught my attention. The brightness of their white uniforms was stark against the graying, melting snow. I stiffened, my muscles tense in the penetrating cold. Safety Patrols. Narrowing my eyes, I pulled my collar up higher to hide my face and retreated into the shadows of the nearest building.

  The Patrols moved from stall to stall, from citizen to citizen. My pulse quickened and gooseflesh rose on my arms. A routine comp and ID check. Damn it. Just as Mom had warned. My new profile should work without a hitch, but the digits on my wrist would without a doubt give me away.

  A high-pitched scream filled the air as a Patrol, his face contorted in rage, struck down a young man with an electric rod. The man, who couldn’t be more than a few years older than me, crumbled to the ground, his bloodied face staining the snow red.

  My chest tightened. The Patrols weren’t in a forgiving mood today. I’d have to make do with my bread rolls and apples, because right now, I had to get out of here and find somewhere to hunker down for the night. I couldn’t risk getting caught, not with a hacked comp and my Deathday a day in the past.

  Maybe I’d cross over to Loop Sector; it wasn’t too far from here and I could probably get away with crawling into that old ruin—the Pavilion. At least it would lend a bit of protection from the cold. I wouldn’t stay there for longer than one night though, as Loop was the most inspected Sector in the City. Mom had told me to go beyond the Edge, but I didn’t want to risk it this close to nightfall. Who knew what I’d encounter there… No, I’d go at first light. Not having a safe place to call home was beginning to take its toll on me. I was lost; a stranger in my own City.

  I turned on my heel and started south, my pace brisk, looking over my shoulder every few seconds. As I swung around the corner into the next alleyway, my heart stopped for a moment.

  No less than six Safety Patrols moved in formation from the opposite mouth of the alley.

  And they were marching straight toward me.

  My heart hammered in my chest as I struggled to catch my breath. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Everything Mom said this morning played back in double-time in my mind. The Patrols would ask for my comp and run my ID check… I was confident my hack would work, but if they asked to inspect my wrist and saw that I was supposed to be dead…they’d make it happen.

  I briefly considered turning around and bolting back the way I came, but it was no use. The Patrols were fast, and I’d never outrun six of them. Three—sure, but six? Not a chance.

  The Patrols were fast approaching. I had twenty, maybe thirty seconds at most. I pulled my comp out of my pocket and held it close. The device gave me comfort. Ten seconds. Maybe I could cover up my Deathday somehow? I glanced around, looking for something that could help hide the digits—but there was nothing but dirty snow, fallen containers and debris.

  Five seconds. My knuckles had turned white from clutching my comp so hard. I held my breath, hoping to the heavens that the Patrols wouldn’t check my wrist…

  One second.

  “Afternoon, miss.” A harsh voice sounded above me. “Routine comp check.”

  I tilted my head and stared straight into the eyes of a man who had power and knew it. He ran a hand through his cropped dark hair and bared his yellowing teeth in what I’m sure he thought was a pleasant smile. It was, in fact, the exact opposite. His foul breath warmed my face. Fear budded in my chest—this was one Patrol I didn’t want to cross, and here I was, handing over my doctored profile and hacked comp.

  “Of course, Officer,” I said as sweetly as I could manage. I released my iron grip on the comp, trying to conceal my shaking hands. The device beeped and flashed green.

  “Miss Penelope Clark. Age sixteen. Deathday in thirty-eight years.” The Patrol’s eyes flicked to mine as he studied me from head to toe.

  “And what might a young lady such as yourself be doing alone on a day like this?”

  “Afternoon stroll, Officer.” I fought to keep my voice even.

  After a moment that seemed to drag on forever, he nodded and returned my comp. “Everything seems to be in order.”

  I gave the Patrol a tight smile.

  “Rogers, let’s head back to Market Square. We haven’t checked everyone yet.”

  “Right away, Lieutenant Johnson.”

  The six Patrols passed me and continued on toward the Square, although I was sure the Patrol named Rogers—tall, handsome and brown-skinned—shot me a curious look when his fellow officers weren’t looking. Feeling the flush of crimson creeping up my cheeks, I quickly turned away.

  As soon as the Patrols were out of earshot, I sunk to the ground and let out a low breath. That was a close one. Too close. I had to be more careful from now on.

  Willing my breaths to even, I assessed my situation. Night was falling fast—I had to find shelter before all the lights went out at curfew. The Patrols would be making their nightly rounds, and I wasn’t about to push my luck with two inspections in one day. Mom had told me to find someplace safe, but that wasn’t going to happen tonight.

  A cat with brilliant black fur slunk past me, peeking its flat snout out from behind a fallen container. Its yellow orb-like eyes, with slits for pupils, shone like a pair of lanterns through the dying afternoon light. We locked eyes, and for a moment, neither of us moved. Then, the cat pushed off its hind legs and sprung onto the nearest ledge, and it was gone.

  I stared after it for a moment, before a hint of brown on the ledge where the cat disappeared caught my eye. A slight rustle, then silence.

  I froze, my entire body tense. Someone was up there. I slowly tilted my head upward, not wanting to make any sudden movements. Maybe it was another cat.

  My scalp prickled. No, it wasn’t another cat. Cats mewed, not rustled.

  And then I saw them. A pair of hazel eyes beneath a shock of dark, curly hair.

  I was being watched.

  I sucked in a breath. A boy, perhaps a year or two older than I was, sat perched on the ledge, looking down at me from his high vantage point. I averted my gaze and pretended not to notice him, while my heartbeat quickened in my chest. It wasn’t uncommon for Safety Patrols to wear plain clothes, to catch unsuspecting citizens unawares. Maybe Johnson and Rogers had sent him back to keep an eye on me? Maybe they knew my fake profile didn’t check out?

  I blinked and chanced another glance up at him, but he was gone.

  Unease settled over me. Had he gone to get the Patrols and take me away?

  I leapt to my feet and hurried back toward Market Square. The shopkeepers were busy closing their shutters and packing up for the night—there’d be no more business here after the Patrols’ inspections. I clambered up on one of the outermost stalls and curled up in a small recess between it and the adjacent building. It wasn’t what I’d call ‘someplace safe’, but what choice did I have? Pulling a scrap of taupe cloth over me, I settled in for the night, falling into a shallow sleep filled with swimming images of shiny white guns, black cats, and boys with hazel eyes.

  I awoke before dawn to a sharp prickling in my wrist. Residue from my Deathday, no doubt.

  Hopping off the stall and landing easily on all fours, I took in my surroundings. There wasn’t a soul in sight—it was too early for the shopkeepers to open their wares. It was the perfect time to sneak away in the predawn darkness toward the Edge. It was illegal, of course. A small smirk curled my lips, which were now chapped from the cold. Not that anything illegal had ever stopped me before.

  I crept in and out of shadow through my trusty alleyways and backstreets, like a cat prowling and patrolling its territory. Like a Hellcat. I passed throu
gh Loop Sector, skirting next to the ancient structure that resembled a huge reflective bean, the fallen Pavilion, and the vast layered fountain with rusted green mythical creatures that had sat dry for decades.

  Finally, I reached the outskirts of the City and paused in the shadows of a derelict house in front of the large concrete field separating me from the Edge. Weeds grew through the cracked concrete and wound themselves around several warning signs that had fallen into heavy disrepair: the trefoil associated with high levels of ionizing radiation, ‘Danger’, ‘Keep out’…

  I wondered how accurate the stories the GA fed us were, about the irradiated creatures that roamed the woods and the badlands beyond the City’s borders. Before yesterday, I might have still believed the stories and turned back. But if the GA had lied about Deathdays, what else had they lied about?

  A rustle sounded to my left. I swear, if I heard another rustle I’d—

  I froze, straining my ears, backing further into the shadows and fingering the knife in my pocket. There it was again—that sound. I peeked out from behind the house and nearly cut my hand on the knife as I stumbled backward.

  It was the boy with the hazel eyes. And he was carrying a shiny white Safety Patrol gun.

  My heart jumped to my throat. So I was right! He was a plain clothes Safety Patrol. My dark eyes followed his movement like a cat following its prey. He was heading across the concrete field, toward the Edge and the forest beyond.

  Was the predawn light playing tricks on me? I blinked several times, but no, he was still there, strolling across the concrete as if it was his own back garden. What business would a Safety Patrol have beyond the Edge?

  There was only one way to find out.

  I waited for the mysterious boy to disappear across the tree line before meandering through the field, careful to step over the overgrown patches of weeds and not slip on the frozen snow. I entered the woods several feet to the right of the boy, in case he was still there. The trees were bare this time of year and didn’t offer much in the way of protection from prying eyes. Still, as soon as I set foot in the forest, my heartbeat slowed and my muscles relaxed. Why didn’t I spend more time in nature growing up? Why did I wait until after my Deathday to experience the sweet serenity of the trees? Was the forest the place where I could be truly safe?