Golden Dreg Boy, Book 1

by D. K. Dailey

  She’s brilliant. And calculating.

  This makes me like her that much more. But it also sends me on a mind-trip where I’m trying to figure her out again. Where’d she learn a trick like that? Carson? Or Pike?

  Saya rushes to the patio door, and I join her on the balcony. From here, we have an excellent view of the skywalk, where the cop squads hurry into hovering heli-bubbles.

  “This is exactly why we live on the slum outskirts.” Saya keeps her eyes focused on the bubbles.

  “What do you mean?” My forehead pinches.

  “Living in the city means you abide by their rules. Raids like these happen all the time. Bright side is they filled their quota by taking the criminals.”

  I stare at her, hoping she’ll expand on the cryptic quota comment. Though I don’t agree. Raids serve a purpose. The government is not a greedy monster, but one purposeful in its actions. The actions may not always be ethical, but they always have a purpose.

  The heli-bubbles disappear into the night, ironically right through timed flashes of my aerial digital wanted posters, and she turns to face me.

  “The government is a big fat ant, and Dregs are their food crumbs.”

  “Excuse me?” I squint at her. “That analogy doesn’t really work because when ants find food, they deplete the source.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Who knew you were actually more than a pretty face?” She smiles, and her tone becomes serious again. “My analogy is correct because the government—or the big fat ant in this case—has a systematic way of weeding us out. You don’t kill off people you need. You collect and study them. Learn strengths and exploit weaknesses until you can rule them or you don’t need them anymore. A big fat ant would always be able to find other food sources because they have a colony and a system in place.”

  I shake my head at this and marvel out loud, “How can Dregs live like this?”

  With determination resonating in her eyes, she answers, “Hopefully, we won’t have to for much longer.” She takes my hand in hers, a refreshing gesture that tells me she no longer questions my worth. They need me, and I need them. Well, really, I need her mostly.

  When we get back to the rec center later that morning, four bubbles packed with supplies hover in front. People exit the building and wave, get into the vehicles, and head toward the city.

  “I guess Pike believed us.” We jump off my flutterboard, and Saya looks like a rugged ballerina when she lands.

  Tucking my thin metal board under my armpit, I take the old one that got us to my parents’ house from my bag. Someone here might treasure it. Saya has her pictures. Cricket has her worn out, one-eyed, one-legged doll. Now I have my backpack full of belongings and my flutterboard.

  “Pike probably doesn’t want to take any chances.” She says.

  Four more bubbles occupy the barren main room, which looks like an ocean spill where water and oil separated and the splotchy oil and debris rise to the top. With no cots or people, the grime is evident, and only the old vehicles decorate the depleted décor.

  Less than a day since we passed the message on to Zee and Rigo, and already the bulk of the clan is gone. The boys as well as Isa and Mrs. Shelby cease talking when they spot us striding through the double doors.

  “Waiting for us?” Saya teases, a broad smile on her face.

  “Fat chance.” Smirking, Isa gives me a once over with her eyes. I catch a glint of green jelliness in them. These girls never talk except on missions, which makes me wonder again what happened between them.

  “We’re doing our final walk-through,” Mrs. Shelby says. “Packing up the last of the supplies and making positive we don’t leave anything. Glad you two caught us.” She smiles.

  Saya glowers, ignoring her mother. A dark, menacing cloud of animosity not only rains on the estranged mother and daughter but blocks the sky for all of us.

  I wipe away the gloom with words. “How’s the new place look?”

  “Much better than this shucky hole.” Zee smiles brightly, kicking the cloud into oblivion with his candidness.

  “It’s an abandoned warehouse in lower downtown.” Smiling, Isa bats her eyes.

  “Past the slums?” They reach far, full of shanties, stacked apartments, and skywalks disappearing into utter darkness. Sounds like the new place is a long way from here. A long way from anything.

  “Yes, past the slums.” Isa replies.

  “I’ll be out front when everyone is ready.” Rigo leaves, hopping in the driver’s side of one of the bubbles. Zee and Isa follow, jumping in the six-seater packed with supplies. They coast out of the room, floating slowly and tightly through the front doors. Once they clear the opening, they burst into the daylight.

  “New flutterboard, Kade?” Yimi’s chubby cheeks puff up, and he abandons a box of supplies he was packing to walk over.

  “New enough.” I pull it out from under my arm.

  “Lush.” He touches the sleek board. “When we get to the new place, you’ll teach me?”

  My brow arches. “You never rode one before?”

  He lowers his head, frowning. “They’re expensive. Yours looks like a really good one.”

  “It is,” I reply, not wanting to mention it’s the best flutterboard points can buy. Somehow, my Golden belongings seem selfish and frivolous now.

  “Actually, here’s an extra one.” I hand it to him`, “Not as good as—”

  He cuts me off with a whoop of joy and wide eyes. “Lush! Thanks! Now you have to teach me.”

  He’s a pretty lush kid, given the chance to speak. How nice to see someone excited around here.

  Loud voices overpower our own, and he stops salivating over his flutterboard to look at Saya and Mrs. Shelby. I glance over, too.

  “Uh-oh, family drama.” Yimi grins. “Better get back to packing.” They look pitiful. Their body language is defensive and guarded. Saya’s feet point toward the front doors, and she’s crossing her arms over her chest. Mrs. Shelby looks sideways, a thin smile on her lips. Obviously fake, but a gesture she’s trying to make real for her daughter’s sake.

  I can’t imagine taking my parents for granted, seeing as now I technically don’t have any. Life’s too short. One day, I’m Golden. The next, I’m a criminal. And the next, I’m Dreg. Finally, I’m an abandoned, fake-adopted orphan. What will I find out next? The initial shock of it all has worn off, and I’m losing hope that I’ll ever be reinstated as Golden. But I’m going to fight to find the whole truth and not give up until I do.

  Before, I thought there was no way I’d get used to the Dregs’ nomadic and unpredictable lifestyle. But now, I believe the human race is adaptive. And Dregs are remarkable. They’ve survived with no access to healthcare while Goldens have died. Survival of the fittest. How did I not put that together before I was forced to?

  Lost in thought, I almost miss the bubble speeding into the rec center. Zee and Rigo? They skim the floor, dragging up linoleum like dirt under a plow. The bubble zigzags toward us. Zee hangs out of the open partition, while Isa scrambles to sit in back.

  My gut awakens. They said they’d wait outside until we were ready to leave. I squint through the glass. Isa’s face is tense, Zee’s grimacing, and Rigo’s eyes are set on steering.

  “Raid!” Zee yells. “Get in the bubble, now!”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I’ve learned to hate the word “raid” as a Golden Dreg boy. Panic is my first reaction. My knees lock up, and while everyone runs for exits or throws themselves into the last bubble, I freeze. After shoving equipment and weapons from the bubble, they struggle to make room for me.

  Two cop-squad bubbles enter the building slowly, with eleven cops trailing behind, weapons out. The small size of their party suggests they were tipped off about our sudden evacuation or didn’t have the resources to fight back in large numbers. Exactly what Dad said.

  The cops’ flashing lights reflect silver and blue off the wooden walls like disco balls. The stench of high-energy vehicle power
permeates the confined space, and I breathe in sharply, trying to avoid the bitter odor.

  One cop vehicle screeches to a halt, hovering near the front doors, blocking the main exit. The officers on foot run toward us, try to trap us. Like the raid at Noodle’s party, but without the seaweed of people struggling to stay balanced over frozen feet.

  Five more Dreg rush into Rigo’s bubble before the curved doors close, and he struggles to take off. Yimi’s smaller bubble joins Rigo’s trying to escape. Making U-turns, they charge at the double doors, playing chicken with the hovering cop bubbles. Rigo’s smashes into one, forcing it outside. The other cop bubble glides forward before the inevitable impact, allowing Yimi’s bubble to escape unscathed. The cop recovers and chases Rigo and Yimi into the sky.

  The nearest Dreg bubble to me is about twenty feet away. As I step toward it, a driver and a passenger get in and take off, closely pursued by cops on foot. One latches on to the rear of the bubble but slips and misses, falling on his head. Somehow, the vehicle crashes, and the occupants take off running. Cops grab two of the passengers and jolt them with their weapons. They go into shock, falling to the floor, convulsing. Eventually, they stop moving and are taken outside in the same electric-blue cuffs I wore when I was arrested.

  “This way.” Saya tugs on my arm.

  I follow her, flutterboard in hand, to the other side of the room. She’s headed for the exit she snuck out of the night I followed her. The night I tried to kiss her and failed epically.

  We pass cops surrounding a woman, man, and their daughter. They are united, back to back, bracing for the onslaught. A few others scatter but are cornered, and fighting ensues all around us.

  We’re right next to the railing of the raised floor to the communal showers when I throw down my flutterboard and try to fly. A cop crashes into me, knocking me to the floor, and the flutterboard careens across the top of the railing, out of reach.

  We struggle, rolling on the floor, and he tries to scan my wrist. I laugh at the irony of the effort. Pinning my arm down, he raises his scanner hand. Saya kicks the device away and grabs him from behind, dragging him away.

  Another cop charges. She lets him grab her. The first lesson she taught me: use body momentum against an opponent. Her effort is flawless, ducking low and wriggling out of his hold like a slippery fish.

  He bends over, off-balance, and she completes her famous roundhouse kick to the side of his head. A tooth rattles out of his mouth from the blow. With an excruciating cracking sound, he collides against the soiled floor.

  The other cop is back on top of me, pinning me down while reaching for the errant scanner. He’d succeed with another weapon, but he’s persistent, reaching with his head lifted and chest open. Throwing my shoulders up and into him allows me to push us into a roll and then get myself on top.

  I pin his legs down with my knees and snub him square in the nose. He reaches for my neck, but I choke him as he thrashes under me. He’s struggling to breathe, but I don’t release the pressure until he blacks out.

  “Last bubble.” I point, grabbing my flutterboard and backpack, and we run to the farthest side of the room, near the kitchen entrance. Two cops surround the vehicle and two Dregs. “Hands up,” they order. “Step away from the bubble.”

  The adults surrender and are pushed to the floor, cuffed, and then escorted out.

  “Where’s Shelby?” Saya panics.

  We spot her mother at the same time. Mrs. Shelby looks so small with her pointed chin cocked in the air and her deep-set eyes fiery with purpose.

  “Put the gun down. We don’t want to shoot you.” Two cops face her, and they’ve switched from their yellow Laser-Tasers to actual guns.

  “You put your guns down!” she shrieks back.

  A true three-person standoff. From digital games, the first to shoot is at a disadvantage, so no one wants to. Once they shoot, the person that didn’t get shot fires at them.

  Two more officers rush us, and we jump over the railing onto the raised platform and wait for them to ascend.

  Leaping, Saya soars across the floor onto the railing, landing into a crouch as the first rushing cop slows down. She’s a woman about Saya’s height, and they look evenly matched. Those battles, she told me, are the hardest to overcome.

  The other cop trots the railing and grabs one of my kick. I do a quick heel-toe movement with my other foot, flick off my kick, and jump over the guy’s back. Dropping my one kick, he turns to face me while pulling out a Stun-Stick.

  The weapon lights up red, and he jabs the metal stick toward me. I dodge and sparks fly past my head. Predictably, he jabs low next, so I jump over the jolt of power and charge forward. He’s backing up, caught off guard by my quick responses.

  I tackle him to the ground, and the weapon rolls near Saya. Pummeling him with snubs, I kick his ass the good olden-day way. We’re going blow for blow, but I land the most. Somehow, we make it to our feet at the same time. He pulls another weapon from his belt, steadies it, and then jumps forward. He advances more than he should, and I swipe at his feet. He falls, face bloodied. I kick him while he’s down, and a blow to his head knocks him unconscious.

  I’m putting my kick back on when the woman cop punches Saya in the gut, and she stumbles back. The woman attacks Saya’s gut again, cutting her low. The cop’s head and neck drop as she holds on to Saya’s waist, pushing her backward into the railing. Saya pounds on her opponent’s back until it cracks, and then swings her leg around the cop’s shoulder. With the woman’s head now between Saya’s thighs, she squeezes. She could easily break the cop’s neck but settles for rendering her opponent unconscious.

  I race for the Stun-Stick still on the ground, grab it, and rush back to help Saya. I wave the weapon and turn it on as Saya jumps off the cop. I touch the woman with the glaring red metal stick, and she convulses on the floor, immobile. I jab the other cop I fought next.

  Saya and I stand victorious, yet tired. But before we can escape, Mrs. Shelby’s voice carries through the rec center. “I know what you do to the Taken, and I refuse to let that happen.”

  “Ma’am, calm down, please. No need for guns,” a cop says.

  “I love you, Saya.”

  I catapult forward, hoping to stop Shelby. I love you. Those three words have never sounded so wretched to my ears.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Mrs. Shelby places a gun to her left temple.

  “You don’t want to do that,” a cop warns. “Please surrender.”

  She makes eye contact with Saya before a deafening sound makes everyone, even the cops, stop. Mrs. Shelby’s body hits the floor like a puppet with its strings sliced, but the deed has the impact of a pile of bricks.

  Saya’s body goes rigid. Catching her as she falls, I lay her down on the floor. She doesn’t speak or scream but simply turns on her side for a clear vision of her mother. I try turning Saya’s head away, but she resists. I pull out my flutterboard, but a cop grabs me while I’m standing on it, about to pull Saya onto my back. My adrenaline’s up. I’m superhuman.

  Sparking into action, I kick and punch at the officer. From my flutterboard, I have the aerial advantage, moving too fast for him to match my moves. With brute force, I attack until he’s down.

  Fluttering as quickly as I can, I reach Saya. On her side, she wears a distant expression as her face presses into the floor, staring at her mother’s motionless form. Blood floods from the hole in Mrs. Shelby’s head, and her eyes remain wide open.

  I pull Saya onto my back and board over the railing and out the side door. Cops run after us but stop when another shouts, “We already got five. Let ’em go.”

  Saya falls against my back. “She wouldn’t kill herself.” Her voice is dry like she’s swallowed rocks, like she’s trying to keep herself from crying. “She wouldn’t.”

  Her words are grabbed by the wind, which whispers them back to me. She wouldn’t.

  Holding one of her hands, I draw her closer. Mrs. Shelby wanted to solve
her problems with her daughter. She wanted to help fight Goldens, too. “Maybe what she knew made her choose death.”

  I look back as we fly away. No one follows.

  “They filled their quota,” Saya says after a while.

  I shake my head. The fallen have officially been taken. We will never see them again. And although I don’t know any of them by name, I feel for them.

  They’re officially Taken.

  I can’t shake that final image of Mrs. Shelby, and I can’t imagine how terrible Saya feels.

  She insists we stay in a safe house for the night and meet the others at the new place in the morning. We’ve ended up with each other again. The last time, the extent of my father’s deceit had been revealed. This time, Saya carries a bigger burden: the death of her mother right before her eyes.

  Dismounting from the flutterboard, we walk through the slums. She stares into space, distant and withdrawn, so I stay by her side, mirroring her steps and keeping the crowd from jostling her.

  “Are we going to a different apartment?” We’re farther back now, walking from skywalk to skywalk, closer to the warehouse Isa mentioned.

  “I told you we have many. Those that had to run are probably all staying in one tonight.”

  Did Rigo and Yimi’s bubble get away? The scrolling images across the sky have me worried I’ll be recognized. But the faces scrolling above me are people I don’t know.

  “Where’s my skyboard?” Oops. Wondering about a stupid skyboard is insane when Saya saw her mother die.

  “You mean your fugitive listing?” She gazes up with tears streaming down her face. Grabbing her hand, I hug her, my chin touching the top of her head. Her hair smells so good, like coconut. I hold her tighter so she can feel my love pressed against her before sadness overwhelms her senses. But she pulls away too soon.