Horror Girls
Page 13
“Yes. I won't tell anyone.”
“Good. Last question: Do you understand that possessing more than one oxygen tank is a serious crime, and that selling one is even worse?”
“That's why I brought it here. This is the black market, right?”
“It doesn't get any blacker,” the guard says, and this time he smiles. “The boss will be with you in a minute. My name's Wink, by the way.”
“I'm Vikka.”
“This your first time at the Trade-Mart?”
“I've been here before, but never to sell anything. I'm only doing this for my family. We need money fast.”
“I thought so,” Wink says. “That's why I'm going to tell you something I shouldn't: Be careful with the boss.”
Before I can ask what he means, the door opens. Trader Nox enters the room. He ignores us both and kneels to inspect the tank, his spidery fingers caressing the plasteel surface. “Hmm,” he murmurs. “A Valu-Tek 76. Don't see too many of this model anymore. Not bad, considering its age. I suppose it was empty when you stole it?”
“I didn't steal it, I found it.”
“Oh really?” Nox says. “I suppose you expect me to believe someone left their only source of traveling air lying around, did they?”
“Nobody saw me take it. Do you want it? The jacket too.”
Nox names a price that's not nearly enough.
“But the tank's worth ten times that!”
“Yes,” Nox says, “but it's illegal. I'm taking a chance buying it from you. How do I know you're not an informant?”
“Because I'm not! I already answered the questions. I'm not with Security.”
Nox clucks his tongue. “How old are you, girl?”
“Fifteen,“ I say, then add, “Almost sixteen.”
“Fifteen,” he repeats, and I don't like the way his hungry eyes crawl over me. “If you need more money, I have a friend who could use someone fresh like you.”
My lips twist into a grimace. “No, thanks.”
“We all sell out sooner or later,” Nox says. “You'll be back.” He hands me a stack of credits. It will only cover half the oxygen bill.
I grit my teeth. “Strictly because I'm curious—not interested—how much is your ‘friend' offering?”
Nox grins. “That depends.”
“On what?” I immediately regret the question.
“You might say it's on a ‘per job' basis… Nox cackles until a coughing fit seizes him and he doubles over.
Wink shakes his head and mouths the word, “No.”
The security door opens, and I step back onto the selling floor. I'll go through with my original plan. It's my turn to contribute.
DRONE Preview — Chapter 4: ZAN
Outside the Trade-Mart, I see the Elite boy drive his jetbike out of the parking lot. I adjust my breather and walk away. I have to, because if I don't, I might go back to Trader Nox. Lots of girls sell themselves. Lots of girls, but not me. So why did I ask how much it paid?
My best friend, Rylee, became a prostitute at thirteen. Only she didn't do it to save her family, but to escape their abuse. I saw her a few times on the street, but she said she was only allowed to talk to customers. Her pimp chased me off.
The next time I ran into Rylee, she'd been beaten pretty bad. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. She was so drugged she didn't even recognize me, or at least pretended not to. I asked if there was anything I could do, but she just shook her head.
I never saw her again. She's probably dead, but I don't want to think about that. I want to remember Rylee as she was before. As my friend.
The jetbike pulls up alongside me, engine idling. The rich boy raises the visor of his racing helmet. “Need a ride?”
I ignore him.
He keeps pace. “I'm Zan. What's your name?”
“Vikka.” Why did I answer?
“Vikka,” he says. “Want a ride?”
“No, thanks.” I keep walking.
“Hey, wait!” He catches up.
“Leave me alone. I'm in a hurry.”
“I can see that.”
“I'm not for sale,” I snap. “That's the only reason your kind come here.”
“That's not true,” Zan says. “We also come to drink, gamble, and get in trouble…” His gaze drifts over my shoulder. “Hey, did you just sell whatever it was you were hiding under that jacket?”
I whirl and recognize the gruesome-looking street punks angling toward us: the bald creep and the blue mohawk guy with the crutch. There's no way I can outrun them.
“Get on,” Zan says. “Now!”
The punks know we're onto them and charge. I jump on the bike and wrap my arms around Zan. He hits the booster rocket, tapping into the bike's dual oxygen and fuel tanks. We take off, blue fire shooting from the exhaust. The mohawk guy throws his crutch at us in frustration. It bounces off the broken pavement.
Zan stops a few kilometers later for a traffic light that actually works. I've never been this far uptown before. Everything's bright and clean here, not the drab, dirty gray of Dronetown. There are fancy stores and restaurants. Ahead loom the dome-scrapers, the headquarters for the government, the NWP's Council of Seven.
A sign says Surgi-Pharm Tower is a block away.
“Thanks for saving my life,” I say. “You can let me off at the Tower.”
Zan pulls over to the curb. “No problem,” he says. “So when can I see you again, Red?”
Red. He's already got a nickname for me, like we're old friends. I stare at the Tower and shake my head. “You can't. I mean, you won't want to. Not after today.”
He frowns. “Why? What do you mean?”
“I'm going to sell my parts to pay my family's oxygen bill.”
He stares at me in horror. “Red, you can't!”
“I don't have a choice.”
I approach an armed soldier in front of the Tower's airlock. He's dressed in a black Security uniform with an armored vest and helmet. His face is hidden behind a tinted visor.
“State your business,“ the soldier says. His voice is bored and mechanical through his breather.
“I'm here to make a donation.“
Surveillance cameras mounted on the front of the building swivel in my direction.
“This is the Administration and Experimental Division,“ he says. “We don't accept donations.”
“Please, you don't understand! They're going to shut off my—”
The soldier sighs. “Sorry, miss. No exceptions. You'll have to go to the Outreach Clinic in Dronetown like everyone else.”
Suddenly, Zan is at my side. “It's all right,” he tells the soldier. “She's with me.”
* * *
The inside of the Tower is clean, sterile. Its coldness is offset by artificial plants and warm splashes of color on ever-shifting digital paintings. Soft music pipes into the lobby from hidden speakers. We remove our breathers and shut off our tanks.
A pretty young receptionist in white sits behind a large desk manning a holocom bank. She smiles in recognition at Zan, but her expression fades when her gaze falls on me in my dirty green rags. “Zan? Who's your friend? Does she have an appointment?”
Zan shakes his head. “It's OK, Gloren. She's with me. Is there a spare office we can use?”
“Down the hall,” she says. “First door on your left.”
I follow Zan. When we get to the office, he hits a button and a door glides open. There's a desk, a couple of chairs, and a holocom. The door shuts behind us.
“Do you want to have a seat?” he asks.
I sit, fighting back tears.
Zan grabs a chair and sits next to me. “I want to help you, Red.”
“I don't need your help.”
“Maybe.” Zan flashes a crooked smile that's used to melting hearts. “But I need yours.”
“How could I possibly help you?”
He shrugs, but his smile doesn't falter. “I need you to go on a date with me.”
>
“What? I already said I'm not—”
“It's not like that. The minute I saw you, I said to myself, ‘she's perfect.'”
“Perfect for what?” I lean away from him. I don't like where this is going.
“Whoa!” Zan holds up his hand to show he's harmless. “It's not what you're thinking. I just meant you're perfect to help me rebel against my father. See, he's kind of a big shot and wants to run my life. He tries to tell me who I can see and who I can't, that sort of thing.”
I roll my eyes. “And I suppose I'm the kind of girl he doesn't want you dating, is that it?”
“Well, yeah, but I like interesting people, and right now, I'm interested in you. Say yes, and I can pay your family's oxygen bill. Just pretend to be my girlfriend for tonight. We can go to a restaurant, dancing, whatever you want.”
“I need to be with someone who wants to be with me for me, not some stupid prank.”
He gets up and paces, frustrated. “It's not a ‘prank.' It's… well, my relationship with my father is complicated. I have money, Red. Let me use it to help you.”
I try to imagine the girl he wants me to be, this exotic Drone called Red. She comes from a hard life, but wants to better herself. She gets the chance when a handsome Elite sees her on the street. Red wins his heart, and moves uptown into a fabulous mansion, a place where her old life can never touch her.
Only what about Mom and Dad? What happens to them?
The office door slides open. Three men in black uniforms and body armor walk in. Two are Security soldiers who point blaster rifles at me. The third is a hatchet-faced man in a silver-trimmed uniform and officer's cap. “I am Major Helstrom. I'm here for the girl.”
Zan moves between us, unafraid of the soldiers. “She's not going anywhere.”
Helstrom sneers. “Step aside, sir. This isn't your concern.”
“Bullshit! I demand—”
The major signals a soldier to block Zan while the other grabs me. I scream as I'm dragged away.
DRONE
— A Dystopian Sci-Fi Thriller and Book 1 in the Beyond the Dome series —
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First Printing, October 2015
Published by Jackson Dean Chase, Inc.
HORROR GIRLS: Twisted Tales and Poems
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Cover art by Dark Elegance.
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