Feral Recruit (Calm Act Book 5)

by Ginger Booth

  At lunch, one of the gang visitors pulled a switchblade on the obnoxious little proctor while Ava was in the restroom. So, he left.

  After mid-afternoon snack break, the kids under 16 were dismissed as usual. They didn’t work full days. So she lost her translators.

  For eight hours, nine with breaks, it was a long and trying workday.

  But finally Ava was free to shed her dusty shapeless coveralls and goggles, work gloves and hardhat, and go find Jelly. She knew where he lived, in a 6th floor walk-up on 8th Street. She’d walked by it several times during the workday.

  Ava checked in with the building ‘mother’ on the first floor and explained her errand, to gain official sanction to climb into the kid zone. This wasn’t how Guzman had it set up for the younger kids when she came in. That was their first real talk. He’d put older teenagers in charge of the 10-15 year old crowd.

  Ava had hissed at him. “No, no, Guzman. That makes the younger kids slaves to the older ones. Just put the little ones together on the upper floors. Have some adult on the lower floors, to keep anyone from going up and bothering them. Maybe they’ll ask the grownup for help sometimes. But give them their own space to be safe and be kids.”

  “But don’t they need to be supervised?” Guzman had asked.

  “If they can’t work it out between themselves, how could they hope to stand up to a nineteen year old? They’re not babies, Guzman. Try to sort them by size, then leave them alone. They’ll work it out.”

  And he listened to her. She really liked that about Guzman. Even she was winded by the time she made it to the sixth floor, though.

  “Looking for Jelly,” she told the kid posted at the landing. She’d rung a cowbell to announce herself on the second floor, so the guard girl had been watching Ava climb stairs for several minutes now. The top-floor apartment doors stood open onto the hall.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Tail Panic. Jelly works on my crew. Got something for him. But he didn’t show up for work.”

  The girl relaxed, sliding down a wall to return to her hand-held video game. “Jelly gone back out.”

  “No!” Ava moaned. “Just to visit?”

  The girl shook her head and shot Ava a dirty look under her eyelashes. “Jelly say his work crew leader was mean.”

  “Yeah, LaTisha was bad. But I got that fixed. LaTisha’s gone. Tell him, if he comes back?”

  “He ain’t coming back.”

  “What gang is he in, out there?”

  The girl pursed her lips and applied herself to her game.

  “You friends with Jelly?” Ava pressed. The door girl ignored her, so Ava stuck her head into the apartment beyond. Video games seemed to be the favored pastime of the dorm, eyes quietly glued to tablets and hand-held gaming consoles. Jelly’s building featured a recharging bank on the ground floor, just like Ava’s. The floor was strewn with mattresses like a flophouse, full of no-energy hungry pre-teens killing time until supper.

  “Anybody friends with Jelly?” she announced to the room. A few looked up guardedly. “I’m trying to get him this cheese.” She held it up. “And tell him, we got rid of his mean supervisor. We got her fired because she was mean to him.”

  Actually Ava doubted LaTisha would have lost her job for endangering Jelly, only lost her life for stealing food from the ville. That’s why she needed to give him the cheese, to make up for it.

  One of the bigger boys decided to talk. “Jelly, he Seven Dwarfs.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Children’s Art Museum.” He waved vaguely west, toward the Hudson River.

  Ava sighed. “Thank you. Please, if he comes back, get word to me? I’m on Guzman’s block, Sullivan Street.”

  “I know who you are, White Trash. Get lost.”

  “I’m going. But you’ll tell Jelly, if he comes back? I’m gonna have an issue with you if I go into the Children’s Museum, and he’s sitting back on 8th Street.”

  The kid threw a stuffed dolphin at her. “Fine! Go away! You don’t come in our crib and threaten us!”

  She raised hands in surrender. “No threats. I meant I’d be cross with you, not get physical. Look, man, I’m just trying to give Jelly a half pound of cheese. I’m Jelly’s friend from work.”

  He eyed the cheese.

  No, I won’t leave the cheese for him. Ava smiled crookedly and departed.

  It was already past dark. She didn’t want to infiltrate the war zone alone at night and get stuck outside after curfew. Tomorrow was her day off. She’d just have to go find Jelly then.

  6

  Interesting fact: Project Rebuild focused on developing the new mini-cities. Areas outside the planned communities were low priority for demolition, salvage, or cleanup, which would take years to complete. In much of the city, youth gangs still reigned. Many traumatized adults stayed ‘out’ as well, unable to cope in the regimented villes.

  Ava used a small makeup mirror to peek around a building corner, and frowned. Someone had put an awful lot of effort into hanging canopies and sheets across the street here, and arranged dumpsters and vans at ground level. That usually meant snipers to be foiled. Red A’s in circles, the anarchy sign, and plenty of graffiti were painted on the walls and windows. Maybe gang tags, maybe Arabic, maybe both.

  Ordinarily, she’d use the cover so thoughtfully provided by whoever, and be across the street in a flash. But she enlisted Tyrone and Songkram for this outing to fetch Jelly back from gangland. That may have been a mistake. Anyone could tell at a glance that the mixed-race two-sex threesome were ‘losers,’ independents with no gang affiliation, no backup. That advertised that there would be no consequences for attacking them. It seemed like a good idea at the time, safer than having no one at her back in the gang zone, but perhaps not. Solo, she could bluff, a queen bee out on a private errand. With them, she was a loser, too.

  Well, she wanted friends. Though in practice, she sort of bribed them. She bought two days’ pay worth of rations to share out. Their lunches were in her waist-pack and stuffed into the bust of her leather jacket, getting squashed.

  A plink sounded behind her, and she scowled back at Songkram. He’d thrown a penny at a ball of lightning. Not only did they not need to advertise their presence, but he’d missed and herded the lightning ball towards her. She wouldn’t waste another penny on it. She waved them around the corner and pelted for the first dumpster.

  “Safe, see?” Tyrone whispered, when he caught his breath again.

  “Trap,” she murmured back. She decided the cover was better on the far side of the dumpster, weaving between vans, and –

  “Hold,” ordered a guard, maybe her age. He perched on a folding lawn chair in the hunting blind they’d stepped into, just past the dumpster. He aimed a gun at Ava, in the lead.

  She raised her hands and the boys followed suit. “Just passing through,” she said. “Need to talk to someone at the Children’s Art Museum. We got no issue with you.”

  “Soho Jihad protects the art place,” the guard shared. He tapped his head. “The Dwarfs are kinda out of it. What do you want with them?”

  Ava decided the truth was worth a shot. She left out the cheese, but admitted they were looking for a coworker from Soho Ville who’d gone back out.

  “He gone back out, means he sick of you,” suggested the guard. “Sick of the rules in the ville.”

  Ava shook her head. “Our boss was mean. We got her fired. He’ll be safe now. That’s what we want to tell him. We take care of him. It’s safe to come home.”

  “He is home, bitch.”

  “Not anymore. In the ville, he gets fed four times a day. People who watch his back. Us. We’re his new gang.”

  “Losers.” The guard sniffed contempt, but waved them through. After they stepped past him, hands still up, he advised, “Better run, rabbits.” He fired a shot into the air.

  “Dammit!” Tyrone hissed. All three ran as fast as they could, projectiles pinging off the dumpsters and vans around
them, and thudding into the hangings above.

  “I want to go back and kill that bastard,” Ava commented, when they stopped for a breather around the next corner.

  Songkram zinged a penny at her forehead. She caught it and winged his ear back with it.

  “Songkram wants to turn back,” Tyrone translated.

  Ava shrugged, and peered down the next block. “Go if you want. I don’t recommend it.” She started walking without looking back. That gave the boys a simple choice. Head back into a sniper alley, or follow the girl who seemed confident. Ava found most of leadership was just that simple. Act like you know what you’re doing.

  In mid-block, a rifle barrel suddenly protruded from a doorway, perpendicular to her path on the sidewalk, to block her. She stood still and glanced in. She schooled her expression to remain cool. But the gun’s owner wasn’t a gang kid. He looked to be in his 30’s, a white skinhead, with a foot of height, two feet of reach, and a hundred pounds on her.

  “I know you,” the man said, eyes narrowed. “Frosty’s bitch.”

  “Not anymore,” she said, meeting his gaze. She didn’t recognize him, except by type. White Rule. “I work in Soho Ville now. These are my coworkers. We are expected back.”

  That would have been a smart thing to do, come to think of it. Tell Guzman where they were going and why. A pity that hadn’t occurred to her until now. Maybe next time.

  “Maybe Frosty wants you back,” the man suggested, raking her with his eyes. “Maybe I’d like to keep you. Don’t need them for anything.” He dismissed the boys with a glance.

  Ava placed a finger on the gun barrel, still perpendicular to her path, and pushed it away from her body, sashaying into it. “Like I said. The ville militia know where we are.” She pushed until the semi-automatic was pointed at the other side of the stone doorway instead of into the street. Still standing beside the barrel, but in the doorway, she faced back at him.

  Out of their opponent’s line of sight, Tyrone and Songkram looked terrified and frozen, and that wouldn’t do. Mad dogs and armed men – never show fear to a predator. Ava needed the man’s eyes on her. “We’ll be going now.” She waved the boys to get walking past.

  “Stay a bit,” the man ordered. “Entertain me.” His grip on the gun suffered as he moved a suggestive hand to his belt buckle.

  “On a tight schedule,” Ava said, still holding his eye. She shot him a quick regretful flash of a smile, as though she would have preferred to stay and service him. The boys were finally moving. Just a few more seconds to give them a head start. “So you’re White Rule? Work for Hendricks?”

  His eyelids twitched a momentary concern. “I know Hendricks.” Even by White Rule standards, Hendricks was a scary psychopath.

  Ava winked another fey smile. “So do I. I’m going to leave now. Give my regards to Hendricks for me.”

  She turned, thinking she’d managed to bluff him. But no, he grabbed around from behind for her chest. He squeezed the tuna sandwich and apple she had stashed there, much to his confusion. Fine by her – while he tried to paw, she grabbed the rifle. It was pointed the wrong way in close quarters. But she bashed the stock into his throat, then turned it sideways for a staff to shove him backward, and then got the gun pointed in the right direction.

  “You’re gonna regret that, bitch!” he yelled.

  “You grabbed me,” Ava said, already walking backward, slightly crouched, rifle still trained on him. “How rude.” She sure hoped Tyrone and Songkram knew to watch her back, because she couldn’t see where she was going. I miss Frosty. This would be a cake walk with Frosty.

  The skinhead dug out a phone. Him calling for backup was the last thing Ava needed. So she shot him in the forehead, and dropped the gun. “Run!” she advised the boys, as she passed them.

  The downside of telling the first gang rat the truth, was that Soho Jihad knew where they were going. She kept running without mercy, taking the long way around the block toward the museum. They’d have to approach it from behind. She leaned against the closed garage door of a loading dock, behind a derelict shipping container. Across the street was a single-story block of individual garages, with an abandoned shipping facility on the roof. She’d almost caught her breath by the time the boys caught up with her. They stood panting against the wall as well.

  After a few moments, Tyrone quipped, “So you miss this, Panic?”

  She cracked up laughing, bent over in mirth.

  “You wasted that guy.”

  Her laughter cut off abruptly. She straightened. “You miss him?”

  She winged a penny at another lightning ball that wandered too close. The dratted things roved the city streets like tumbleweeds on a grey day like this. Most people kept a pocket full of pennies to herd them off. The trick was to hit them right through the middle. Then the lightning would roll away, following the penny. They didn’t electrocute you exactly. But it sure hurt if they touched you, and tended to fry your phone. They’d shown up before Ebola. The news claimed they were a natural phenomenon, perfectly normal. The news didn’t have much credibility by then.

  “Where you learn to fight like that?” Tyrone pressed.

  “Karate black belt Before. Got better After. Lots of practice. You ready? Half a block.” She confidently strode off, leaving them to follow again.

  Privately she sure hoped Jelly knew a better way out of here. Going back the way they came seemed contraindicated.

  Ava could easily see why the Seven Dwarfs gang was drawn to the Children’s Art Museum, a hands-on, experiential sort of place. She’d never been here before. She was too old for it when her family moved to the city. Big storefront windows faced the quiet street, letting natural light into children’s playrooms dedicated to coloring and sculpture. The plate glass was smeared by years of fingers and tongues and noses.

  Peering within through the dirty glass, the rooms had seen better days. The kids had colored and finger-painted on the walls as well as paper. Stocks of crayons and paints and other art supplies were apparently replenished by salvage. Middle-school aged kids sat hunched on chairs too small for them, at low tables, intent on their self-expression, oblivious to the world around them. A stainless steel climb-on sculpture, weaving looms, and easels added creative options. The floors were awash with balled-up paper and other debris. Unlike most gangs, the Dwarfs seemed color-blind to race. Membership appeared to be based on age and mentality. This was a place of refuge.

  Ava explained their errand to the door lookout, who was Tyrone’s size, a half-foot taller than Ava, but she guessed only 14 or 15. He shrugged and allowed them in to hunt for Jelly themselves. “He likes the ball pit,” the guard offered as a clue. “Don’t be mean to anybody. You promised.”

  Ava concluded that the neighboring true gangs watched out for Seven Dwarfs pretty well, if the museum could get by with such dim-witted security. Though there was no particular reason for anyone to harass starving children. No need to steal their crayons. Every gang had some younger members who couldn’t cut it. Maybe the neighbors donated failing kids in addition to security. Her own gang turf was in Chelsea, or she might have taken this opportunity as well, to offload younger teens. Frosty would have disapproved of the mixed colors, but on that issue, he would have conceded her lead.

  The place reeked, but looked fun and inviting. Children still squealed here, in the dim light. They hadn’t spotted Jelly through the windows, so ducked into the back rooms as the guard advised. An engineered room that explored perspective – you became a giant as you walked up steps to the back and approached the ceiling, the walls painted in swirling orange and yellow that enhanced the optical illusion. A white event hall, sculptures dangling from the ceiling, hushed in the gloom, with small forms huddled in blankets on the floor. Tech rooms, dead and forlorn without power, with computer workstations and accessories to explore sound and 3D animation. A yellow fun-house hall with steps and in-floor trampoline.

  They finally found the room full of giant exercise balls,
some as high as Ava’s thighs. Humps of kids draped on top of larger balls, rocking them slightly with toes and fingers. Rather than wade in or intrude with her flashlight, she called in softly.

  “Jelly? It’s me, Panic, with Tyrone and Songkram, from work. Could you come talk to us?” Wiggling balls froze. “I brought you lunch, Jelly.”

  After a few moments of thought, one of the forms detached from his ball and slowly waded toward them.

  “We were worried about you when you didn’t come to work,” Ava told Jelly, as he neared. “I have a present for you, besides the lunch.”

  Jelly led them back to the dark perspective hall steps to eat. Ava dealt out full adult takeout lunches for each of them. Tyrone and Songkram confessed earlier that they were under 16. That was their objection to coming along – they needed to stay in the ville or miss lunch. By Hudson rules, children were required to eat rations in the cafeterias, to prevent anyone taking them. Or prevent the children from giving their food away, which amounted to the same thing.

  Nobody spoke until the eating was done. When you were hungry enough, words bounced off, as the food grew to fill your universe of attention.

  “No milk,” Jelly said sadly. “I miss milk.” They didn’t use containers, just glasses. Milk wasn’t included for takeout. A boy Jelly’s age got two glasses of milk a day, when Soho Ville had any.

  “So come home with us,” Ava invited. “LaTisha isn’t our boss anymore. We told the grown-ups how she was mean to you. Here, we got a cheese from LaTisha’s house, to make it up to you.”

  Jelly’s eyes lit up, and he grinned, turning over and over the flattened globe of red waxed cheese. “It’s pretty!”