Jackal

by Tarryn Fisher

  “The only thing you’ve ever had inside of you are your own fingers.”

  “Finger,” I correct, but my skin is feverish at his words.

  His face twitches like he wants to smile, but he quickly gets himself under control.

  “I’ll fuck you, Phoenix. But not here and not in front of all these people.”

  I fight back the tears of humiliation. “Why not?”

  Now he looks flustered, his usually cocky face almost sheepish.

  “I want something just for me. I don’t want to share you with anyone else.”

  I open and close my mouth. There is nothing. No words. I do the only thing that I can think to do in such an awful situation. I leave.

  I gather myself enough to hurry down the hall, through the foyer, and fumble with the door to get it open. I bang on the door twice in frustration and finally it opens and I rush out.

  What were you expecting from him? I ask myself over and over. I don’t know if I’m angrier that he had his hands all over that woman or because he didn’t have his hands all over me.

  “No, you don’t want him,” I say out loud. I don’t. I really don’t. He was right. I’m drunk.

  I groan and walk for a while before bothering to get a car. I only ever take a taxi after a party, needing the fresh air when I’m out of the studio. When I’m close to my apartment, I remind myself that the evening wasn’t a complete bust. I open my clutch, and even in the dark, the sparkle of the diamond watch is stunning. Some of my anger evaporates, and I smile and close my purse, satisfied. This should help more than all of the bracelets put together. Watches are a rare find, especially with all the diamonds still in place.

  The flash of Jackal’s body moving behind that woman, his fingers gripping her, floods into my mind. My mouth waters and I open my eyes, grateful for the dark.

  “Thank you,” I tell the driver before getting out.

  I’m a few steps from the front entrance of my building when a hand touches my shoulder. I jump sky-high. Damn Jackal has made me so distracted that I wasn’t even paying attention. Thief mistake number one.

  She’s tall, hair tucked underneath a hat. I can’t make out her face. She assesses me from where she stands.

  “Yes?” I ask, moving closer to the door.

  “Thank you for your contribution,” she says.

  “Jewel?” I hiss.

  I’ve never seen her in person, at least not when I’ve been aware that it’s her, but we’ve talked through our Silverbooks for months now, and she says this after every donation I leave on the random doorsteps I’m assigned to.

  She blinks, her only confirmation.

  “Do you mind if I come up?” she asks. “It’s probably not a good idea to talk out in the open…”

  I want to say yes, I do mind, but that would probably not go over well. My hands tremble slightly as I hover the chip in my wrist over the entry, still shaky from being startled out of my dreamworld. The door slides up and we walk inside the building, silent as we ride the elevator to the twelfth floor. I can feel her eyes on me, so I study her in return. She stands a good six inches taller than me and has spiky studs on her boots that would be frightening in a dark alley...or in an elevator late at night.

  The elevator dings and we step off, walking to my door. When we step inside, the lights automatically lift to a comfortable brightness and I hold my hand out toward the minibar in my living room.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  She shakes her head, her attention shifting off of me and onto the things in my apartment. She does a thorough check of my house, scanning it with a device I don’t recognize, over fixtures and under my table and chairs, my Silverbook. When she’s satisfied, she abruptly turns around and faces me.

  “We need your help. You’ve shown your dedication to the Revolution.” She smirks and her face changes drastically with that adjustment, putting me at ease. “Your tenacity with taking from those who don’t know what to do with their wealth has been entertaining. Thank you.”

  I curtsy and she grins bigger. I eventually smile back.

  “Are you willing to do more?” she asks.

  She’s not afraid to stare me down. I imagine her in staring contests as a child and would wager she won every time. I look away, dammit.

  “Depends on what you mean by more.” I move to the bar and pour a glass of water for myself. I lift it to her, making sure she hasn’t changed her mind. She shakes her head.

  “No doubt you’ve heard about Gwen Allison’s escape…”

  I nod.

  “We hadn’t expected her to be quite so…” she pauses.

  “Resourceful?” I offer.

  “Resourceful,” she repeats, smiling.

  “So what do you need from me?”

  “The Red Region has launched a manhunt for Gwen and the women who escaped with her. Most of the women who left with Gwen were behind bars for petty crimes. Crimes they wouldn’t have committed if they weren’t starving.”

  “The lower end is given no choice but to fight to survive,” I agree.

  “We give them no choice,” she says. “And then we punish them.”

  We are both quiet for a moment, the truth of her statement weighing between us.

  “We’re hiding them,” she says suddenly.

  I sit up straighter. “Gwen?”

  “Yes. We have her. But we need to move her. Somewhere safer—closer to the border.”

  My heart is beating erratically in my chest. Gwen Allison is here, in the Blue.

  “We’re trying to spread out the prisoners who have escaped—buy time until we can figure out a way to get them over the border. They escaped before we’d worked that out yet, so now we’re scrambling, playing catch-up.”

  I want to ask about Gwen, but I hold back. “What would you need me to do?”

  “Word is you have more room than this elsewhere...Upstate?”

  It’s disconcerting how much she knows about me, but I shouldn’t be surprised. The Revolution is making strides because of their ability to get information and to connect the right people together. I’m more honored than anything. It feels good to be part of something, something that’s not dancing.

  “You want me to hide them?” I’m thinking of the numbers. A hundred fugitives would be near impossible to hide.

  “Just a few,” she says. “We need more time before we can get them out. As soon as they got involved with Gwen, their crimes went from things like theft and arson to treason. If they’re caught, there’s no doubt they’ll spend the rest of their lives in prison. The Society is looking to make an example of them.”

  I think about the way Folsom’s son, Laticus, had been shot while trying to escape and set my glass down.

  “I know it’s asking a lot,” she says, like she can read my thoughts.

  “It’s dangerous. Will I have protection?” I ask.

  She sits down in the chair across from me and leans forward.

  “We’re growing, but our resources are limited. This would be a risk you’d need to be willing to take.”

  Indeed. I stare down at my hands and suddenly I picture Jackal, the image of him with all of those women. He hadn’t looked like he needed saving tonight. But there was Folsom, who Jackal had called the best of them, and Gwen who had sacrificed herself to save the man she loved, and her sister, and Rebel who would never know his parents because he was taken unfairly from his mother.

  “Yes. I’ll help,” I say quickly. “I’m due for a risk.”

  Jewel nods. “Good. Because we need to move fast. Preferably tonight.”

  I balk.

  She stands up and puts her hand on my shoulder. “I know this is a lot to take in. You sure your proper, regimented self can handle this” —she does a general sweep of her hand over my body— “upheaval?”

  I level her with my resting bitch face and she straightens, raising both hands.

  “Okay then. Hurry, time’s wasting.”

  NINE

  J
ACKAL

  During mating with a honey bee, the drone’s genitals explode and his penis snaps right off.

  After Phoenix’s appearance in what Mrs. Mavey intended to be the sexual party of the season, I go completely limp. As in flaccid, useless, soft. Selfish pulls me into the bathroom and shoves a little blue pill at me.

  “Hell, no,” I say, backing away from her. “I don’t need...that…”

  “It appears you do.” She looks down at my dick and it shrivels into itself.

  “Don’t look at it. It doesn’t like you,” I say. I wave it around a little and nothing happens.

  “Take it, Jackal.” She produces a bottle of water from a satchel and holds it toward me.

  “I am young and virile,” I insist, taking it from her. I hold the pill up to the light, examining it suspiciously.

  “Everyone gets old,” she says. “Your buddy Folsom was on a bottle a week.” She raises her eyebrows, rattling the bottle for effect.

  I point at her. “Don't say his name.”

  Selfish shrugs. “You’ve been paid a lot of money to be here. There are fertile wombs that need your juice. Hurry the fuck up.”

  I glare at her as I swallow the pill. I love fucking. This is all Phoenix’s fault. I’ve only known her a few weeks and I already have a case of limp dick. She is going to ruin my reputation.

  I fall into bed groaning. Everything hurts. Not only had the little blue pill given me an erection, it gave me one that lasted for four hours. A man shouldn’t be made to do the things I did. What I can’t forget is the scene Phoenix caused when she marched into the library, the top of her dress slipping down until those perfect nipples were exposed. I throw an arm over my eyes and groan. Women. I have unlimited women, and the only one I can't stop thinking about is Phoenix. Selfish takes that moment to barge into my room.

  “Get out,” I order.

  “You have to have your shot.” She approaches the bed like a determined mother. I don’t move as she swipes my upper arm with something cold, then I feel the cool prick of the needle jab my skin.

  “Done,” she says. “Now you won’t be a walking disease.”

  I rub the spot, frowning. More than one price to pay for party sex. Maybe I am getting too old for this.

  “Selfish,” I call. She’s halfway out the door, but she peeks her head back around.

  “Is there any update on Marcus?”

  I watch as she purses her lips together, trying to decide how much she wants to tell me.

  “They’ve not been able to find the cause of the problem. He’s just stopped being a viable sperm candidate.”

  “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “I don’t suspect anything. He won’t be punished, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Will they let him...go?”

  Is it just the lighting or did her face visibly pale?

  “Get some rest,” she says finally. “You have an early day tomorrow.” She closes the door before I can get the next question out of my mouth.

  There has never been an End Man ejected from the program. That is, of course, because until now we’ve...worked. Our bodies have made sperm, and our sperm has impregnated women. The Society long ago promised protection and every amenity made to any man who signed their life-long contract. What you signed away were the rights to your own life. If Marcus is no longer producing, will they still protect him?

  TEN

  PHOENIX

  Due to a panda’s low sex drive, scientists have found that the combination of exercises, porn, and the occasional menage a trois have proven effective.

  As we walk to the underground garage, I worry that I failed to put my car on the charger. Maintenance on my vehicle is near the bottom on my list of priorities. The garage is musty, its spaces only half full. Most people use the train, foregoing having a car. The only reason I have one is to get to my country house. The very house we’re going to now. Jewel’s eyes never stop moving.

  I exhale in relief when the engine turns over.

  “What were you doing to the cameras?” I ask.

  “Creating a white-out.” She shrugs.

  I want to ask more questions but pull out into the dark night instead and let the road take over my thoughts. The drive has always been relaxing for me at this time of night, once we’re out of the busyness of the city.

  The Moyo home has been nestled in the valley overlooking the Hudson River for decades. My grandfather was still alive when I was a little girl, and some of my favorite early memories are with him, walking the paths that led from the house to the water. He was much kinder than my grandmother, whose bark had some bite. He was soft all over, his round belly jiggling when he laughed, and he was quick with the hugs and eager to share whatever sweets he carried around in his shirt pocket. For years, I avoided coming back here because it was too hard to think about how life was after he passed, but then it became too hard to leave behind that part of my life. I’m inclined to think that any semblance of decency I have comes from him.

  “We’re almost there,” I tell Jewel when we’re a few minutes away.

  “I’ve been watching your house for the past three days,” she says.

  “Right,” I say under my breath.

  The driveway is long. My car bounces over the potholes, lobbing us toward the roof. I park near the row of birch trees to the left of the house. The solar-powered lights guide our way to the door and as I place my wrist over the reader, I wonder if Jewel has already been inside. She seems a little too familiar with everything to not have been here before. She places her hat on the hall tree in the entry, and I look at her with suspicion, waiting to see what she’ll do next.

  She catches me watching and widens her eyes, attempting innocence. I smirk and shake my head.

  “Make yourself at home,” I tell her, walking into the old-fashioned kitchen. “When can we expect her—them?”

  “An hour or two, if all goes according to plan,” she says.

  “I’ll make some coffee then…”

  “Real coffee?” she asks.

  “Real coffee.”

  “Must be nice…”

  My hand stills over the machine. I am privileged—I have access to real coffee, milk, fruit—but to be called out like this itches my insides with guilt. I’ve seen how the lower end lives. How the rich ignore the problem rather than trying to help fix it.

  I press the button on the coffee machine and it hisses to life.

  She grins. “Don’t mind me. I speak before I think.”

  I slide the mug across the table toward her and she hugs it between her hands.

  “How often do you come out here?”

  “As often as I can. It’s a break from...everything.” The words aren’t even out of my mouth before I regret saying them. Who am I to complain? My life is a bedazzlement of luxury. The type of life even women in the upper end covet. Jewel doesn’t seem to notice my slip. I relax a little as she sips her coffee, nodding slowly like she understands.

  Before she can ask any more questions, I head to the bedroom, closing the door behind me. I need to process everything that’s happened in such a short amount of time. Turning on the light in my grandmother’s bedroom, I stare at the row of photos on the chipped green dresser.

  There are photos of my mothers—their wedding day, and one of them with me at my first ballet recital. I try to imagine what they were like before I came along—free, perhaps. Before they had me, they were avid campers and often volunteered their time in the lower end. Their friends describe them as free spirits, but the only spirits I’ve ever seen either of them display are the ones in the bar. It’s like I came along and all of a sudden they turned into regimented robots.

  I hear footsteps outside the door and then Jewel’s voice.

  “They’re here,” she says.

  I fling open the door. “Have them pull the car into the barn. It’s around the back.”

  She nods once and briskly walks to the door.

  My h
eart is pounding as I glance out the side window. A car sits next to mine, headlights off. Jewel goes out there and says something to the driver. Before the car moves, the doors open, and I turn away. I’m nervous; seeing them makes it real. It is real, you idiot, I tell myself. And you got yourself into this.

  I open the back door and a tall woman with long dreads walks in, two redheads who must be twins, a girl who doesn’t look old enough to be a prison escapee...and last of all, Gwen. Her hair is no longer than her shoulders; it climbs out from beneath her hat, a mass of wiry curls. She’s thin, very thin—like she hasn’t had a real meal in months. She catches me staring at her chapped lips and she lifts a hand to touch them.

  “The perils of a fugitive,” she says, half smiling.

  I blink, embarrassed. I hadn’t meant to stare. She’s still beautiful.

  “I’m Phoenix.” I step back to give them more room.

  The one with dreads speaks up first. “I’m Cardi.” She points to the twins. “Kelsy and Khan.” And she puts her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “This is Tahira. And you probably recognize Gwen.”

  I nod. We stand there timidly for a moment, staring at each other. There are questions, things that we all want to say and ask, but I can see the exhaustion pulling on their faces.

  Gwen glances at Jewel and puts her hand on my arm. “We all know the risk involved with hiding us here—for both of you—and we are so grateful. And we will keep everything as we find it.” She eyes Tahira when she says that, and the girl smirks then leans her head over on Gwen’s shoulder.

  “You must be exhausted,” I say quickly. “I’ll show you to your rooms. My closest neighbor is a mile away, but with the hovercrafts over this area, I would ask that you stay inside and keep the blinds closed.” They all nod briskly.

  “There’s food in the fridge,” I say to Jewel. “If you could get something ready…”

  She nods. I lead the way, the trail of fugitives behind me.

  Later when the women are in bed, I wander into the living room, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I sit on the couch, dropping my head into my hands. Too wound up to sleep, I recount the happenings of the day from Jackal to the very dangerous position I just placed myself in.