by A P Heath
Rig tried to remember the things he’d heard on his garbage shifts.
“They fight a lot, with each other and with the Mayor’s security.” He bit his lip with the effort of concentration. “They’re not very nice.”
Max laughed. “Yep, you’re def’nitely right there Rig. They are not very nice. And which one o’ them is the worst gang?”
Rig thought for another moment. He’d seen members of both gangs around the township, but the Cowled Men seemed quieter, less interested in causing trouble than The Branded. The women who had grabbed him by the tram station were from The Branded.
“The Branded.” He said confidently. Max raised his eyebrows at the conviction in Rig’s voice but didn’t make a comment on his choice.
“Well Rig, what if I told you that badge was the key to getting’ rid of those Branded. Getting’ them all gone, all in one go. Would you think that was a good thing?”
Rig thought about the way they’d made him stand there, naked from the waist and crying while they held him. He nodded firmly. “I reckon that would be a really good thing.”
Max smiled to himself and reached out to pat Rig’s shoulder. “That is the power of this badge,” he said. “And I need you to show me where you found it so’s as I’ve got all the pieces in place if I decide to use that power.”
Rig wasn’t sure exactly what Max meant, but the idea of The Branded being gone was one he liked. He liked it a whole lot. If Max needed to know where the badge had been to make that happen then Rig would make sure he found the place again. It was going to be a long walk and his body still hurt from Jaquil’s beating and the abuse of the women from The Branded, but he was determined not to let that stop him.
Rig picked up his pace, pumping his thin legs as the tunnel opened into the huge cavern that housed Henstown. Max smiled to himself as he followed Rig into the light.
TWELVE
It took another three hours by tram and on foot before Max and Rig reached the dark little alley where Rig thought he’d found the clothing and Givon’s badge. It was little more than a gap that ran between the metal sided shacks lining the cavern walls and Rig remembered the cold feeling he’d had when he looked into it the first time and saw the little pile on the floor.
He’d thought at first it was a body and approached it slowly, worried at what he would find when he got close enough. It had turned out to be a jumble of burned clothes that looked like they’d been thrown from the main street as someone passed by. He hadn’t thought any more of it at the time; people dropped and threw away all sorts of things. Rig’s job was to pick them up, not to figure out where they came from.
He’d pointed out the spot to Max and stood by while his friend crouched on the ground, running his hands over it and muttering as he looked about the small space. After a couple of minutes Max seemed to be satisfied and he came back out to where Rig waited on the outskirt road.
When Max joined him his face was set with a calculating look and he turned his head left and right to glance up and down the street. They were in the south-east of the Henstown cavern, almost exactly half way between the entrances to the south and east tunnels.
Directly across from where Max stood was a thin road, crowded by makeshift buildings, that Rig knew ran all the way up to the town’s square in the centre of Henstown. He was pretty sure it came onto the square beside the Miners’ Guild, but it could have been the next street over that ran past the Mayoral Hall. Max turned his eyes on that road and they thinned to slits as he chewed his lip thoughtfully.
Rig waited in silence and after another few moments of quiet contemplation Max took a deep breath and nodded once to himself.
“Right Rig,” he said as his eyes focused on the boy again, “I’ve got a bit more checkin’ to do, but I think I might ‘ave it figured.”
Rig was glad to hear that. He liked Max and he wanted to help him. He’d felt terrible when he thought he’d let his friend down.
“You sure this is the place yeah?” Max asked, his hand waving back at the short alley behind him.
Rig nodded, “Def’nitely.” He tried to sound as confident as Max did when he spoke. Max gave another nod and smiled.
“You get yoursel’ home again pal, I reckon your old lady will be wonderin’ where you are and wantin’ you back where she can see you.” Max took Rig’s hand and pressed some credits into his open palm, “Get yourself back on the tram, you’ve done enough walkin’ today.”
Rig closed his fingers around the discs and turned to walk away. He headed south to the tram station at the entrance to the south tunnel. It was almost the same distance to the station at the east tunnel, but if he went that way the tram would take him past the garbage depot and he didn’t want anyone there to see him right now. He was meant to go back to answer questions about the incident in the tunnel and just the thought of that made him feel scared and guilty and sick.
“Rig?” Max called out to him after just a few metres. Rig turned to look at his friend.
“When you’re rested come find me at Harpers. It’s just off West Run, about halfway down if you’re headed to the square.” Rig nodded vigorously and turned back to continue his walk to the tram station.
His walk and tram ride were blissfully quiet. Rig was happy about that. In the last few days he’d been caught in a gunfight, molested by thugs, beaten for reasons he still didn’t understand and he wasn’t sure if he could face going back to the garbage depot and whatever would be waiting for him there.
He got off the tram at the next main station where the entrance to the west tunnel would lead him back to his home and his changed mother. He was excited thinking about seeing her again. She had seemed just like her old self, happy, energetic and nice. She didn’t seem sick anymore and all it had taken was a few pills from Max.
Rig thought again about his new friend as he walked. Max was clever and nice and Rig felt so lucky to be his friend. He was looking forward to seeing his mother, but he was looking forward to seeing Max again too.
Rig didn’t know Harpers; he’d never been there and although max had said it was off West Run, Rig had walked that long street hundreds of times and didn’t remember seeing it. He was sure he’d find it alright. West Run went all the way from the west tunnel entrance to the square, but it was just one road. If Harpers was on it, and Max had told him it was, then Rig would find it sooner or later.
The darkness off the wide tunnel enveloped him as he strolled further from the lights of Henstown towards the little alcove he and his mother had made their home in. He was happy as he ambled along beside the tram track that headed off to the west. His thoughts were hopeful; maybe they could move into some space in Henstown, maybe his mother had found work while he was away and was waiting even now to tell him about it. Maybe he could stop the garbage runs and work for Max. He knew he wasn’t big like Philp, but Max probably had all sorts of things Rig could do and he’d already shown how useful he could be.
He realised his stomach was rumbling. He hadn’t noticed earlier, his joy of walking with Max and the pain from his bruising masking his hunger. He thought of the food buried under his floor. It wasn’t great, all of it cheaply spun and dry to eat without water, but for once he had water and the food would at least fill his stomach.
Rig realised he was smiling to himself as he walked. He liked the feeling and despite the odd looks from the occasional tunnel dweller he passed he continued to grin. For once everything in his life was ok. It probably wouldn’t last, but right now he had his mother, his new friend Max, food, water and credits. For once he wasn’t going to be hungry and scared and thirsty. Just for a little while.
Rig’s smile faded quickly as the alcove he called home came into view. The boarding and thin corrugated metal that made up most of the walls were scattered on the ground. Rig could see as he got closer that some of it had already gone, taken by other people to shore up or rebuild their own little shelters.
He started to run, desperate to get close and find his mother. The back
of the lean-to looked like it was still in place and the curtain was hanging limply where part of the structure that held it had been taken.
Rig rushed to it, pulling it back and seeing the bed his mother had slept in for so long was gone too. She was lying on the floor on her side, her back to him. Rig pulled away the curtain and knelt beside her. He put his hand on her shoulder and shook her gently.
Maybe the pills had worn off and she was sick again. Without him there other people had come and taken their stuff, stolen from them when she was too weak to stop them. Rig shook her shoulder again, “Mother. Mother you need to wake up.”
She didn’t move and Rig shook harder. The force of his hand tipped her and she rolled onto her back, eyes open, staring up at him.
Rig fell back with a little scream at the dark colour of her face, the wide eyes, the breathless open mouth. He felt the prickle of tears in his eyes.
There was a trickle of dried blood running from her right eye down her cheek and another from her nose. Rig crawled forward and put his hand gently against her face.
“M-mother…” the word came out quiet and thin as he stammered. She had to wake up, she had to. It was all going to be ok. She’d blink and cough and look at him and she would be ok.
Rig stroked her skin as he whispered to her, “Wake up mother. I’m back so we can eat now. We can eat mother. I’m back. I’m back.”
She didn’t move. She didn’t blink or cough or look at him. Her eyes were bloodshot; red from edge to edge as she stared past him to the ceiling of the tunnel.
Rig moved closer, wrapping his arm across her chest to hold her as he lay his head against hers. “Wake up mother. Everythin’s ok. I’m back…I’m back…”
From the tunnel he heard the rumble of a tram passing on its way back to Henstown. The noise was loud, but as it died away the only sound left behind was Rig’s sobbing as his tears dripped down his mother’s face and mingled with her blood in the red dust of the tunnel floor.
THIRTEEN
Rig stumbled as he shuffled his way along West Run. His eyes were still misty with tears and his fingers were bleeding through the torn bandages where he’d dug into the ground to retrieve his stashed food, water and credits.
He’d dropped some of the bottles and bags as he walked. He had nothing to carry them in but his own two hands and his fingers felt numb. His whole body felt numb. His mind too.
He’d walked out of the tunnel in a daze, not thinking about anything more than finding Max. Max was his friend. Max would make it all ok.
Before he’d dug up his stashes Rig had taken down the little curtain that had separated his mother’s bed from the rest of the world for so long and lay it over her still body. She hadn’t moved in all the time he lay there hugging her. He’d fallen asleep with his arm over her and when he woke there was a moment when he forgot what had happened.
He’d opened his eyes and felt her beneath his arms, but she had been cold and stiff against him and the tears had swelled and fallen from his eyes again. Most of their lean-to was gone and he’d dragged back as much as he could find to cover her and keep her safe while he went to find Max. Max was his friend. Max would make it all ok.
Rig heard the soft thud of another food bag hitting the floor, but he didn’t look down or stop. His feet plodded through the dust and behind him he heard shouts as someone fought with someone else over the precious items he had dropped.
Someone barreled into him and he pitched forward, sprawling in the dirt and letting go of the last of the bottles he carried. He lay in the dust, seeing the shapes rush past him to scoop up the water and dart away with their stolen prizes.
Rig lay flat on the ground, his mouth and nose filled with the light red dust that was everywhere in Henstown. He should get up, keep walking, find Max. Max would make it all ok.
He felt hands on his back, pulling at his clothes and emptying his pockets. There was a whoop of excitement as whoever it was found the credits he had put there. Rig lay still, not caring that they’d taken everything from him. Not caring that he had no food to eat, no water to drink and now no credits to buy more. His mother would not need food or water or credits now, so there was no reason for them anymore.
He would be ok when he found Max. Max was his friend. Max would make everything…
“Shit-picker!” The words cut through his mind and Rig found himself rolled forcefully onto his back.
She was standing over him, her tattooed face set into a wide manic grin and her hands clasping the credits taken from his pockets.
“You really gotta tell me where a li’l shit-picker like you got all these!” She held up the credits as she spoke.
Rig didn’t want to say they were from Max, didn’t want to say he’d gotten them for Givon’s badge. He didn’t want to see this woman or her gang or talk to anyone but Max.
“Keep them.” He mumbled.
The look on her face changed instantly to anger and she bent over him, leaning down to bring her face closer to his. “You fink you got a choice there shit-picker? If I want somethin’ I takes it and no li’l fuckin’ scrote like you’s gonna stop me!” Flecks of spit fell from her lips as she spat the words at him but Rig couldn’t find the energy to care.
“Get him up!” She barked as she stepped over him and out of his sight. More hands gripped him and Rig was pulled to his feet. His body hung limply in the arms that held him. The woman swung back into his view and waved a blade close to his face as she wound her head from side to side.
“I’ve had about enough of you shit-picker, wanderin’ around and findin’ things. Things you ain’t got no right to ‘ave. And now I sees you’re rich, even if you smell worse ‘n the sump tanks!” She flicked the knife forward and Rig cried out as he felt the burning pain where it touched his cheek.
The woman skipped back, laughing and waving her knife above her head as she pranced around in a little circle.
“I think I’m gonna have a li’l fun with you shit-picker,” she said as she danced close again. Her hand flew forwards and Rig screamed as the blade bit deep into his already abused belly.
She laughed again, holding the knife steady and grinning wide as Rig writhed in pain and tried to pull away from her.
“No, no, no, no, no.” She said, placing a hand on his shoulder to hold him steady and pushing the knife slowly deeper inside him.
Tears burst from his eyes and Rig screamed louder as the pain overtook him. It was worse than anything he’d ever felt before. Worse than his mother’s flying arms, worse than Jaquil’s fists or any other hand or boot that had been sent his way over the years. Why was she doing this to him? What had he done?
She pressed her face close to his and whispered slowly and pointedly through her rotten teeth, “Where. Did. You. Get. All. This?” She pulled her head back, tilting it to one side and raising her eyebrows. “Hmm?”
Rig felt weak and broken. His arms were dead to him, his legs buckled and the pain throbbing around the knife in his stomach blinded him to anything else.
“Max.” He whispered.
The woman’s head snapped back at the word and her eyes narrowed. She pulled the knife from him and waved her free hand. The arms holding him up let go and Rig dropped to the ground to curl up in a little ball of fear and pain.
Above his head he heard her muttering angrily.
“Philp did say he was Max’s friend now.” Another voice spoke above him, but he couldn’t look up. The pain was his whole world. Rig wondered if he was dying. If this was what it felt like he could see why people fought so hard to avoid it. He could feel the heat of his own blood on his hands and he retched as his stomach turned and sent its contents up his throat to spill out into the dust. He felt his bladder empty and his piss soaked through the thin material of his shorts.
“I don’t care ‘bout Max, y’hear!” He heard her shout in reply, “I don’t care!” Her voice was screeching.
“Maybe you should think a bit more ‘bout that.” The voice rang out a
cross the wide street. It was the voice of his friend. Max’s voice.
Rig had his eyes closed tight, but he heard the scream of the woman above him and felt a foot against his back as they scuffled over him and ran. The noises that followed were loud and unpleasant.
Rig lay curled in his little ball as the street rang with crashes, meaty sounding thuds, shouts and screams. The noises went on and on as he lay there. It sounded like a hundred people were fighting around him.
Rig kept his eyes shut tight, his hands clenched against his leaking belly as the sounds of violence echoed off the buildings that crowded West Run on both sides. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know why it was happening, but it sounded so terrible.
The noises were dropping again now. It seemed like it had taken no time at all and again as if it had been going on forever. A few shouts, another scream and the sound of running feet disappearing into the distance.
