Anarchy

by Rhett Gervais

  She wavered, a spell of dizziness threatening to return her to the floor. Rowen blinked in confusion. Augusta was pinning Mary Beth’s arms behind her, Ariel slapping her with an ice-covered hand, drawing faint traces of blood along her pale cheek. Rowen wasn’t sure what was going on and only had a moment to gauge the situation. This wasn’t the plan. She hadn’t had time to test out her theory and had no choice but to improvise.

  Steeling herself, she charged, doing her best to keep silent, praying this would work. Approaching the bizarre trio from behind, Rowen slid feet first at full speed through Augusta’s wide stance, aiming up as she passed just under him. She fired wildly, trying to squeeze off as many shots as possible into the big man’s nether region. A vicious grin spread across her face when she heard a keening wail above her. The big man released Mary Beth, falling to his side and clutching his groin, tears leaking from his eyes.

  Not having time to bask in her victory, still on the floor, she took a moment to aim, unloading two more shots, one into Ariel’s ankle and another into his Achilles tendon. His screams were terrifying, his deep gravelly voice sounding like stone being crushed as he hopped unbalanced on one foot.

  “Get in the tunnel, now!” she said to a bewildered Mary Beth. Jumping to her feet, she clipped an object to Ariel’s belt, knocking him over with her shoulder as she charged by him. Bolting faster than she thought possible, she leapt from the subway platform into the darkness of the tunnel, Mary Beth a heartbeat behind her. She looked back in time to see Ariel coming to his feet, his face marred in pain and promising to return the same in kind once he caught her. He had only taken a single step toward them before the grenade she attached to his belt exploded in a fury of fire and steel, sending him tumbling end over end beyond her sight.

  “What the hell, girl,” said Mary Beth, raising her hands up in surrender, blowing out her cheeks in disbelief at what she had just seen. “Where the hell you get frag grenades?”

  “It’s a long story, but they’ll think twice now before coming for me after they recover,” said Rowen, putting her SIG in back in its holster, not wanting to tell the other woman that she had gotten the frag grenades her first day in New York. “Seeing how much the drones hurt them gave me the idea. Why…why did you help me back there?” she asked, hesitating.

  Mary Beth shrugged, putting down her arms. She frowned. “Like I told you, I didn’t like the way shit went down. Why did you help me? I could mess you up right now, and there’d be nothing you could do. It would have been safer to leave me with my brothers.”

  “Maybe, but they were hurting you, and that wasn’t fair, wasn’t right. My parents always taught me it was more important to do the right thing, even if it's harder.”

  “Well, thanks, I—”

  “But that doesn’t mean we're friends. You stay the hell away from me too,” said Rowen, slowly backing away before turning around and running as fast as she could, leaving Mary Beth alone with her thoughts in the dark subway tunnel.

  Chapter 5: The Cage

  November 2073

  The blood pooled around the fallen man’s head in an almost perfect circle, making him look like a saint from an old painting. He hadn’t meant to hit him so hard and had been surprised when the man’s skull caved so easily under his fist. The crowd gathered around him cheered, slapping each other on the back as though they were the ones who had knocked the hapless fool to the ground. The soldiers were banging their smart devices together, transferring their winnings and losses. No one cared about the man on the floor; no one really knew him; he was from one of the other cages. Even in death, he continued to twitch, the crystal behind his ear still cycling through its different phases, from indigo to white.

  “No challenge! He didn’t even break a sweat!” said a flat-faced soldier, slapping him on the back, spitting on the body lying in the dirt. “Our Negry is unbreakable!”

  He frowned at the corpse, staring at his designation, X-313, which had been laser cut into his forehead. Someone had been unkind over at his camp. Everyone had them; it was the way it was. When you came here, you got your number. Negry raised his forearm, looking at his own, J-101, neatly burned into his flesh. He found it strange that no one called him that. The colonel had called him Negry on his first day on account of his dark skin and the name had stuck.

  Seeing the excitement was over, the milling crowds dispersed, returning to whatever corner of the cage they had claimed as their own, most of them sitting listlessly on bare patches of dirt, the once-green grass now worn away by the passing of too many feet. Most of the park was like that. The greens had gone to yellow, orange, and red with the coming of fall, soon to be gray and white with winter just around the corner. The ground was hard and frozen most mornings, a thin layer of frost covering everything. As if summoned by his thoughts, Colonel Anton appeared, threading his way across the cage. He barely lifted his gaze from the floor, shoulders hunched, his hands shoved deep in his lab coat that flapped open with the wind.

  Stopping in front of him, he adjusted his round glasses, giving him a pat on the shoulder and a brief nod before glancing down at the body. “I was watching from the medical facility. You did very well, more impressive every day.”

  Negry cocked his head, staring down at the colonel, who was almost a full head shorter than him, not sure if he should answer. It was often like that with him; the small man enjoyed the sound of his own voice, not really caring for the answers given to questions he’d asked, so he had learned only to answer questions directed at him, ignoring the rest.

  “Well, then,” began the colonel, bending down to examine the body, “let’s see what we’ve done today with this poor soul.”

  Negry stood impassively, his arms crossed over his wide chest, watching him run a scan over the body with a medical tablet he’d fished out of his lab coat, humming and hawing every few moments. Satisfied, he lay the tablet aside, squatting closer and drawing a small knife from his pocket. In a single smooth stroke, he cut open the dead man’s coveralls, revealing a tapestry of green-and-black bruising along his ribs, ugly cuts in his abdomen barely scabbed over, some still bleeding.

  With a sigh, the colonel stood, returning the tablet to his pocket and brushing his hands on his lab coat. “Open your coveralls, please,” he said, motioning for him to lower the zipper at the front.

  Negry complied, unzipping the iron-gray coveralls that were his only possession, revealing his smooth chest beneath.

  Looking back and forth between him and the dead man, the colonel thrust out his chin, folding his arms across his thin chest. “You two should be the same. Both of you are bonded, yet his body shows every hurt, every bruise, and you stand here untouched, not a blemish on your skin. I don’t understand.”

  Negry could only stare down at the man, not caring about the why, only knowing that the man he killed today was weak, easy to break.

  Colonel Anton shrugged. “Well, we won’t figure this out here, will we,” he said, motioning several guards over, ordering them to bring the body to his lab. When they had departed, he looked around the cage, raising his eyebrows at the shoving and jostling. “Are you alright in here, Negry? Do you need anything? You of all of our test subjects deserve more.”

  Glancing around, Negry could see the cage was filled to capacity, most of the men and women engaging in chaotic shoving to control useless patches of ground. Many sat listlessly on the hard packed earth, and others, in the vain hope of getting an easy meal, had lined up early in front of the dispensary for rations that wouldn’t be distributed until the end of the day. Most of these people were unbonded, without a crystal. Given how scarce they were, it wasn’t a surprise. They were waiting to be tested. Until then, they were regarded as little more than animals. “No, sir,” he said with a shake of his head, knowing he could easily take anything he wanted.

  “Well, very good,” he said, nodding absently over his shoulder as he headed back to his lab. “Zip up. It’s cold like Siberia out here; wouldn’t want you t
o be sick.”

  Without a word, he complied, pulling up his zipper, a flash of memory running through his mind. “I don’t feel it anymore, but I remember hating it.”

  Anton raised an eyebrow, turning back to face him. “Your memory is returning! That's good!” he shouted over the din of too many voices.

  Negry only shook his head, not sure why that had come to the surface. “Not a memory, more like a feeling, something from when I was little, a flash of burying my head below the covers while shivering to keep warm. But it's gone now.”

  The colonel nodded again, giving him a tight-lipped smile as he turned to the lab. Negry watched him until he vanished into the crowd, wondering if he knew more about his past than he was letting on. He always became weird whenever the subject of his memory came up. His mind was a mess on the best of days. The first thing he remembered was waking up here, in this cage. Everything before was lost in a haze of vague feelings and the flash of distant memory, nothing more. He had no idea of his name or where he was from, and as time passed, he didn’t care. He was Negry now. With a shake of his head, he pushed the past aside, shoving his way through the crowded cage, returning to his corner where he could see the lake. The camp had grown from a single medical trailer to a full-blown military outpost in the last few months, with dozens of prefab buildings having sprung up in the area, from a mess hall for the enlisted men to officers’ quarters for people like Colonel Anton and others like him. The people in the cage lived mostly out in the open, sheltered by wide canvas overhangs that, depending on the time of day, barely shielded them from the elements. It had been fine for most while the weather was warmer, protecting them from the blistering sun and occasional bit of rain, but now that the cold had arrived, he wondered how most of these people would cope. The temperature was starting to dip below freezing on some nights and already there had been some unlucky souls who never woke in the morning. Their coveralls were insulated, and he had heard the guards talk about sleeping bags, but so far the best most could do was huddle together for warmth.

  The entire base sat in the shadow of the crystal spire that had grown taller every day, almost three stories tall, wider now but still slender like a blade, constantly shifting colors every few moments. Negry had spent hours staring at it, his curiosity growing stronger every day. Colonel Anton would tell him nothing about it, changing the topic of discussion every time he had dared to bring it up. Still, Negry had managed to figure out some things for himself.

  He knew from his first day that it acted as a translator. He hadn’t understood a word the colonel had said until it had been placed behind his ear. He had later learned that the colonel, who was also bonded, didn’t speak a word of English, only Russian. He could feel it too—when he was fighting, it made him stronger, much stronger than any of the others, and now, the odd detachment from the cold.

  He spent the rest of the afternoon lost in thought, staring out at the water, ignoring the huddled masses. A rumbling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten for the day. Forcing him to put thoughts of the crystal aside, he tore himself away from gazing out at the water, slowly pushing his way through the maze of flesh, lining up with the others waiting for the daily rations.

  The sun was low in the sky, and the wind had picked up when the guards at last rolled up the door to the shipping container used to pass out rations. Two guards pushed the crowd back while another hurriedly shoved foil-wrapped nutritional bars into the hands of those jostling at the front. A fourth soldier threw them haphazardly to those in the back. The crowd, hungry and cold, surged, pushing forward, elbows thrown wildly, bloodying fists and bruising faces, the neatly formed lines quickly forgotten. Those at the back scattered like roaches to grab as many bars as possible, everyone desperate to fill hungry bellies.

  Negry endured it all in stoic silence, ignoring the stink of unwashed bodies too close to him, pushing aside those around him like they were blades of grass and forcing his way to the front. Once there, he glared at the men handing out the food, neither saying a word, simply depositing a pair of rations into his open hand before returning to dealing with the surging mass.

  Making his way back to his corner, he carefully peeled away the wrapper, tearing away chunks of the near-frozen energy bar with his molars, sucking and chewing the tasteless mush to make it last as long as possible.

  He heard them coming before he felt it, heavy boots pounding on the cold dirt, throaty growls like a pack of hunting hounds, a short, sharp shock of pain blossoming on his side.

  Acting on instinct, he twisted with the wound at his side, pulling the weapon from the hand that held it. He threw a high elbow behind him and was rewarded with the satisfying crunch of a man’s nose pounded flat. Turning to face his attacker, he clutched at the shank buried in his flesh, hot blood covering his hand. There were three of them, the one whose nose he’d broken staggering back, trying to shake off the blow. The other two, one bald with a jagged scar running down his face, the other with stringy, gray hair and yellow teeth, both filthy and emaciated, circled wide, trying to get behind him.

  Not wanting to give them time to position themselves, Negry ducked low, charging ahead. The man with the broken nose grunted as Negry’s shoulder drove hard into his gut, pushing him farther away from his friends, not giving him time to recover. Without missing a beat, he lifted him over his head, hurling him at the scar-faced man, sending the two of them tumbling to the ground in a heap of twisted arms and legs. The other man gave him a yellow-toothed smile, pulling another shank from his sleeve and darting ahead like a viper, slashing wildly.

  Negry stumbled back, twisting left and right to avoid having his stomach cut open, pain shooting through his side, blood spilling freely down his leg and pooling at his feet. Negry crouched low again, his eyes never leaving his attackers, one hand pressed again to the shank still in his side. Knowing he had to end this quickly, he feinted right, pretending to trip only to reverse course when the man came darting forward, grabbing the man’s weapon arm and twisting hard enough to pop his shoulder out of its socket. The yellow-toothed man howled like a wounded animal, falling to his knees and clutching his now-useless arm. Giving no quarter, Negry connected his knee with the man’s forehead, snapping his neck back and knocking him to the ground.

  He turned just in time to deflect a punch from the man with the scar, the blow grazing his temple at an odd angle. Just behind him he could see the last of the three bearing down with his shank in front of him. Not having time for anything else, Negry knocked his arms wide and pulled him close into a bear hug, using him like a shield. He could feel the man tense, grunting in his ear as the shank penetrated his lower back, his arms suddenly flailing. The impact drove them all together in a mass onto the hard-packed earth, the weight of the two men falling on him widening the wound in his side.

  The men stared at each other, wild-eyed, the man with the broken nose rolling off his friend, his face a mess of blood and mucus, red with rage. Negry saw the light fade from the eyes of the man on top of him, could feel his body go limp. The man with the shank waved him on, his friend already forgotten. Negry wanted to lay there, close his eyes, and catch his breath, enjoy the pleasant feeling of the cold seeping in from the ground. The man waved him on again, giving him the space to get to his feet. Despite the pain at his side, he pushed the dead man off him, scrambling away to get some distance before standing stiffly to face him. They circled one another, Negry breathing heavy, leaving a trail of red. He could see the man’s crystal glowing brightly behind his ear. Despite his broken nose, his eyes were bright and he looked fresh, like he could fight for days.

  Wanting it to be over, Negry stood to his full height, dropping his guard and waving the shorter man forward. “C’mon then, let’s get it over with. I’m too tired, just make it quick.”

  The other man took a step back, narrowing his eyes. Seeing his hesitation, Negry bowed his head, falling to one knee. The man’s eyes widened, and seeing his chance, he wildly charged ahead
, the shank aiming for Negry’s chest He watched the broken-nosed man stagger like a clumsy beast, defenses wide open. He waited until the last moment before he fell to his back to avoid the thrust, spinning like a windmill and shooting out with his legs, tripping the other man onto his face. Negry leapt onto his back, pressing his knee into his spine while grasping him under the neck, muscles straining, veins bulging, pulling with all his might.

  The shank buried deep in his side exploded suddenly, the broken-nosed man doing the only thing he could, slamming an open palm against the bloody stain on the side of Negry’s coveralls, driving the jagged weapon deeper. Negry moaned like a beaten dog, rolling off him and clutching his side, his breath coming in short, fast spurts.

  The broken-nosed man was on top of him in a heartbeat, stabbing and slashing with powerful chopping cuts, his hands a blur of violence, blood spraying in all directions from shallow cuts. Negry endured, deflecting blow after blow with his forearms, shock numbing him to the pain as the shank drove into his shoulders, grinding on bone. With a sudden surge of adrenaline, he punched upward, slamming his fist into the wild man’s throat.

  The broken-nosed man doubled over, dropping the shank and clutching his neck with both hands, a horrible rattle echoing from his throat with each breath. Not missing a beat, Negry pushed him off him, placing the choking man in a headlock. Even as he held tight, he could feel the other man recovering, his fists punching at his side, trying to plunge the shank embedded there deeper.

  Negry could feel his arms beginning to shake, spots appearing in the corners of his vision, blood leaking like a sieve from his side. In a desperate moment, trying to adjust his grip, his fingers brushed against the pulsing crystal behind the struggling man’s ear, and in an instant every muscle in his body tightened like he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning, his fleeting strength returning for a nanosecond.