Skeletal

by Emma Pullar

  ‘Salvador!’ Sib steps forward. ‘You’re on our cut.’

  Salvador shakes his head, chestnut ponytail swishing.

  ‘You have no cut. Dra’cave have no business anywhere in this city.’

  Tess starts to cry. The scrawny male that holds her has a firm grip on her neck.

  ‘Shut up, little bitch.’ He raises his hand. Without thinking, I crouch, draw my knife and brandish it at him.

  ‘Do it and die!’

  I could have pulled the handgun, but I don’t want them to know I have it. We’re outnumbered, and if they take the gun from me we’re screwed.

  The gangs laugh amongst themselves. The scrawny one clutching Tess grins, a metal plate where his top teeth should be. He loosens his grip on Tess’s neck.

  ‘Give me what’s mine, Salvador, and fuck off back to your cut,’ Sib shouts. ‘No bad blood.’

  Sib keeps a firm grip on the knife in her right hand, her left touching the top of another weapon on her belt.

  ‘Too late, Sib. There’s already bad blood.’ Salvador steps closer to the green-eyed gang. ‘You see, Don was our client and now he’s dead. That’s loss of income for us.’

  ‘So, that snivelling shit was doing deals behind our back,’ Sib whispers to her Runners. She presses her lips together and shakes her head.

  ‘I figure these three,’ Salvador pulls Bunce up from the ground by the hair, ‘and the one you got there,’ Bunce yelps and holds his head, Salvador points to me, ‘should cover it.

  Sib frowns, as if she’s contemplating the proposal. Her green eyes linger on Bunce and I remember what Cara said, Dra’cave would wear his skin like a badge of honour. I can tell Sib wants to be the one to deliver that honour.

  A dagger leaves Sib’s hand. My reaction is fast enough; blade inches from my face, I drop down and flatten my body to the ground. My heart clings to my ribs, beating against them, blood thumps in my ears. A body thuds to the ground, and below the persistent fog. The woman who was holding Cara lies still, head twisted, cheek flat against the tarmac, dagger between her lifeless neon-blue eyes.

  I catch my breath before it runs away screaming, and scramble on all fours towards a set of shoes I recognise as Cara’s. Tess drops down and kneels beside them. She has her hands over her ears and her eyes squeezed shut. Screams and yells break out above us, clashes of metal, punches thrown. Cara scoops up Tess and Bunce’s sneakers join Cara’s slip-on shoes. They run. I stand and take off after them but a hand reaches out, grabs a handful of my shirt and pulls me into the fight. A boot connects with my shin. I yelp and limp away.

  The gangs haven’t noticed the others are missing. They’re too busy fighting with each other. Cara, Bunce, and Tess are on the other side of the road.

  ‘Go!’ I mouth, stooped over, holding the pain in my shin.

  Bunce and Cara shake their heads and beckon me. Cara’s eyes dart everywhere. I wave my hand at them to leave.

  ‘Just go!’ I mouth.

  Cara nods and leads a reluctant Bunce and Tess away. Bunce looks over his shoulder at me worriedly, as they depart.

  I limp across the road and down the street. Not too far, enough that I’m at a safe distance but can still see the gangs. I watch the five remaining gang members battle it out. I need Sib to live. I need her to take me to Bullet. Copper bob fights with grace, dancing around her blue-eyed rivals, stopping her performance every few seconds to bring that heavy fist of bones down onto an opponent. Blood spits from a scrawny man’s mouth as the bone glove strikes his jaw. Sib’s dreadlocks spin as she twirls around and brings two long blades down into a wooden pole Salvador is wielding. She’s wild, enjoying herself way too much. Psycho! The giant no longer towers above the group, the bigger they are the harder they fall.

  My ears are assaulted by a high-pitched noise, the sound of a hundred strangled crows – the siren. Warmth from the sewer whispers up through the grates and adds to the fogginess but the smoke isn’t thick enough to conceal me. I duck into the shadow created by the overhang on a sixteen-floor cube and flatten my back against the cold wall. I stay still. Only my eyes move, sifting through the darkness. The siren stops and its wail is replaced by heavy boots. A synchronised march comes towards me. Guards are like robots; hunt, seek, destroy – they won’t stop until their mission is complete, which makes me wonder why I’ve not yet been recaptured. I mould my body to the hard, concrete blocks. They won’t capture me. I am the wall. They won’t see me. I’m invisible.

  The squad charges past me and the tail of a scarf brushes my cheek. They’re too close, they’ll find me. I don’t falter, don’t move. They don’t find me. They don’t even slow down, they march straight for the gangs. I wonder if Kian is with them. I wish he was with me. I lean out from the wall to see the mass of tan uniforms collide with the bloodied gang members. Motorised sound to my left. I pull my head in, air rushes through my hair and my ponytail slaps my face.

  ‘Hover-cycles?’ I whisper to myself in disbelief.

  I touch my lashed cheek and stare wide-eyed into the road. Five electric hover-cycles zoom past me, sleek, like bullets, they cut through the fog, speeding through the streets in single file. In a flash of power, the bikes roar down the street and towards the crowd, spitting lightning sparks onto the road from beneath metal bodies. I have only seen hover-cycles once before, they’re rarely used.

  If curiosity was a drug, people would think me high as a kite on it right now. Why send all this force for a handful of gang members? My legs start moving and before my mind engages, I creep after the guards. I know I shouldn’t. It’s too dangerous but I can’t stop myself. I need Sib and if the guards detain her, I’ll never find Bullet.

  The temperature has dipped, mist settles over everything, eerie, like the clouds are falling from the sky. I’m thankful the mist is growing thicker. I feel braver behind its veil.

  I sneak up beside a tube and lean against it. It was not so long ago that I was on the other side of this glass. It must be the only tube that runs through this side of town and it leads straight to Rock Vault. I think of the surgeons inside Rock Vault. This must be their route to work. Just another day at the office, hacking people to bits. I sneak across the road, cutting through white wisps. Within the swirling cloud, an ocean of tan uniforms gathers around a handful of street rats, who have stopped fighting each other and are now fighting not to be detained. I note two hover-cycles leaned up against a cube. A woman screams.

  ‘Filthy spooks! Let go of me!’

  It’s Sib. They’re using hover-cycles to catch gang members? That’s not right. Sib’s just a scumbag Runner. Maybe the hover-cycle guards were sent to find Bullet? He would be a big prize to Central and Sib could lead them straight to him but she won’t, she’d die first. I edge closer to the scene. Three heads bob up and down from within the guard circle. No sign of Coppertop; like a snake, she’s slithered away. The men aren’t shouting, they struggle against their captors but say nothing. Sib is the only one mouthing off.

  ‘You’re breaking my arm! Let go or I’ll break your ugly fucking face!’

  Dreadlocks flick forwards. A guard yells out in pain. Thud. His body hits the ground. Then Sib’s grunts mix with many thumps. Her face re-emerges over the crowd, blood on her forehead, eyes wild, black pupils filling the fluorescent green. Who headbutts a guard? I feel a rush of admiration for Sib, brave bitch. It soon fades. She’s probably more idiotic than brave, or drugged up to the eyeballs, though Runners don’t often consume their stock. I need that damn Runner! Ideas bandy around in my head, all of them useless. I know what I must do but I’m already shaking at the thought.

  I boldly stroll towards one of the hover-cycles and cautiously lean over to see if I can find a starter, a button, or something. Under the visor, the dash is blank. How the hell do you turn this thing on? The crowd of guards are starting to disperse, marching off in different directions, none towards me yet. I feel around the bike handles. I glance up again, nerves causing my palms to sweat. Pale moonlight pu
shes through the clouds and shimmers across the black paintwork. The smooth surface glints. I stroke my fingers down the cold, hard metal – a beautiful machine. What would it be like to take off on it, feel the wind in my hair, engine between my legs? An engine revs, I turn my head to see a crackle of lightning explode from beneath one of the bikes near the crowd. Oh shit! Sib is on the back of a cycle.

  Sib’s escort revs the engine again and the front wheel spins. Do something, Sky! My inner voice shouts. Stop this! I run. Not away from the guards, as usual, but straight for them. My lungs burn, I swing my arms and pump my legs, boots pounding on the ground until I’m going so fast my boots hardly touch the ground. The hover-cycle screams towards me – a missile with my name on it. My feet are on fire. Faster, run faster! Jump!

  I leap onto the wheel arch, left leg leading, right leg swings out. CRACK! The rider’s head is a football, my right boot connects with the black helmet and the guard topples. The bike swerves. I drop down into a crouch and hold tight. My left leg slips, wind screaming past, trying to throw me off, icy fingers ripping through my hair. I cling to the windshield like a spider clings to a web. The rider tries to drag his dangling body back up to the controls. Sib does nothing, she sits with hands bound, calmly watching me, shifting her body with the swerving hover-cycle to keep her balance. Knees bent, I hold on to the windshield with one frozen hand. The other hand slips to my boot. Knife. Pull. Lift. Lunge. Drive … Withdraw. Blood sprays from the guard’s groin and over my wrist. The rider screams and his breath fogs the visor. He holds his gashed leg.

  The hover-cycle is out of control, swerving dangerously. I lose my grip. Slip. Grab the glass again, knuckles taut. Bloodstained knife. Boot rim. Push. I hold on tight with both hands. The bike slows and the lightning beneath cuts out. I feel a jolt and wheels emerge from within the metal body. What’s happening? I look up in time to see Sib finally move. She lifts her knee high and her boot comes down hard on the rider’s chest. He falls. Thump. Bump. Back tyre rolls over his arm. The smell of burning flesh rises. Sparks from beneath the cycle must have fried his skin. He was lucky it started cutting out. He’d be burned to a cinder otherwise. I swing my body into the driver’s seat. A red light is flashing and the bike seems to be slowing down, what do I do? I glance over my shoulder at Sib.

  ‘Pedal!’ she shouts.

  ‘What?’ I yell back.

  ‘Charge it up, start pedalling!’

  I look down towards my feet, sure enough, pedals. I clamp my boots to the footholds and start to push. There isn’t much resistance. I pedal hard and the wheels spin over the smooth road. I lean into it and the power kicks back in. Then my legs start to rise, both pedals have shifted diagonally and I can no longer move them. I look at the dash; lights, dials, and clocks which mean nothing to me. I grip the sleek machine with my thighs, feel the weight of Sib on the back and then roll the handles. Grunt. We jerk forwards. It likes it. I twist the handles again. We take off. I flatten myself, mould my body to the bike and Sib hunkers down behind me. I glance over my shoulder. The street is silent. I pull on the handle again, more power. There’s a crackle beneath us and the lamplights either side of the road turn into smeared lines as we speed through the silent city.

  After a few blocks, Sib taps my leg. I glance back. Her arm is an arrow pointing left. I lean, she leans with me and I make a rather wobbly turn down a narrow alleyway. Two lights flash up on the dash, then another and another until the entire dash of tiny lights are blinking at me. I’ve done something wrong. I don’t know how to drive this thing! We’re losing power again. The pedals don’t descend this time. Shit! What is it? I jab at the lights, some turn off and others turn on. The metal body of the bike shudders beneath me and slows down. I stop trying to fight it and ease back. The hover-cycle sighs, the wheels touch the ground, and the power cuts out. Dead. I’ve broken it.

  Sib swings down from the back of the cycle. I lift my leg over the seat and prop the bike against the dirty brick wall. Sib cricks her neck and holds out her bound hands. I reach into my boot. I cut her bonds and replace my knife. She rubs her wrists, then lunges for me. Her teeth gnashing together like a predator snapping a warning. I recoil. She lets out a breathy laugh.

  ‘Cocky enough to stab a guard and steal his hover-cycle, but still a frightened little gutter rat.’

  ‘I’m not scared of you.’

  ‘Yes, you are … and you should be,’ she says, darkly. ‘You think saving my life changes anything?’

  ‘No,’ I say, indignantly. I know my actions change nothing. Glory Runners believe in a life for a life. If you take one of theirs they’ll take one of yours, doesn’t matter which one. Me, Bunce, Cara or anyone connected to us. It’s all the same to them.

  ‘So why save me?’ Sib says, hands on hips. ‘What’s your game?’

  I think for a moment. How am I going to convince Sib to take me to Bullet?

  ‘I need weapons,’ I say.

  ‘What for?’

  Words spill out of my mouth as I think of them.

  ‘Kill that pale fucker who caused your mate’s death.’

  ‘Now why would you do that?’

  ‘Clear Don’s debt. As you say, saving you doesn’t change anything. I’d rather pay with his life than mine.’ I shrug. Trying to act casual.

  ‘Is that so …’

  Sib digs her finger into the back of her head and scratches between her thick dreadlocks. Our eyes lock, I try not to blink, praying she will believe my lie.

  ‘You have a knife, what more do you need to kill a High-Host pig?’ she says, dark eyes stabbing me with suspicion.

  ‘I kill him and I’ll be number one on the wanted list. I was hoping one of your gang would stab him.’

  Sib narrows her eyes.

  ‘What you talkin’ about?’

  ‘I need weapons to protect myself. He’s not High-Host …’ I pause, reluctant to tell the truth but I have no choice. I have to make her believe I want to kill Bunce. ‘… he’s a Morb.’

  Sib raises her pierced eyebrows, the six green dots above each brow reach almost up to her hairline in disbelief. She laughs. Deep guffaws, bent over, shoulders heaving, hands on her knees. When she’s done laughing at me, she straightens up, hands on hips, she swaggers towards me.

  ‘A Morb. Ha! Outside, wandering around the city? Pull the other one.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘That’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard! Morbs can’t survive out here. Everyone knows that.’ Sib sneers at me and her nose wrinkles like she can smell my lies.

  ‘I was meant to be host for his sister,’ I stutter. ‘We ran away.’

  ‘You’re a host and you ran away?’ Sib snaps. She digs her thumbs into her weapon belt and steps closer to me. ‘Do you really expect me to believe that?’

  ‘Did you not notice how white Bunce is?’

  ‘Hosts bleach their skin.’

  ‘Come on, they couldn’t bleach it that light.’

  Sib purses her thick lips. I shuffle my feet. The passing time becomes more of a danger with every second spent. The crazy Runner grabs hold of my shirt and pulls me to her, her hot breath on my cheek.

  ‘Riches handed to you on a plate, yet you run away. What’s wrong with you?’ Sib snarls. ‘Done time in Rock Vault? They screw with your brain?’

  ‘I …’

  She shoves me away hard and turns her back. I give up. She’ll never believe me. She’d believe a lie before the truth. I hang my head.

  ‘Okay,’ Sib says over her shoulder. Her cruel eyes bore into my skull, desperate to penetrate my mind, read my thoughts. ‘What say I buy you didn’t want a life of luxury. If that’s true, who were your host family?’

  ‘The Vables,’ I say.

  ‘Seven levels of Skel Hell, you are stupid!’ Sib throws up her hands.

  ‘You know them?’

  ‘None of us know them, we know of them. Vable is a technical engineer. A mobility scientist. He designed that hover-cycle.’


  ‘How does a Runner know that?’

  ‘I know many things. Knowledge is a dangerous necessity. Can’t survive the streets without it.’

  My thoughts. My exact thoughts, spoken from a Glory Runner’s mouth. We are not so different after all. I’m frustrated at myself – at the fact I have something in common with a scummy Runner! I’m growing impatient. Time is galloping past, I don’t have enough of it to waste. I need to get back to Bunce. This is taking too long.

  ‘Will you take me to Bullet or not?’

  Sib studies me. Shakes her head. Then strolls away. I hurry to catch up. Back out on the streets she takes huge strides. There’s nothing this side of town, where’s she going? Whimpers come from the other side of the road – someone moaning? Two figures move slowly within the shadows, a round afro of blond hair emerges from the alley. A Glo-Girl; glory stick hanging from her lips, she side-steps and leans against a doorway exposing the other figure. Back up against the alley wall, arms behind her head as if she’s relaxing on the grass looking up at the stars, is a gang member, I’m sure of it. I’m too far away to see the eyes but it doesn’t matter what colour they are, all Runners and gang members are a threat to me. Including the one I’m following.

  Sib stops advancing at the sound of a groan. I realise there is a third figure, on her knees in front of the Runner. My jaw drops. It’s rare for female clients to agree to a service on the streets, their deals are usually carried out privately in some dingy back-alley cube. The kneeling Glo-Girl’s head moves between the woman’s legs. I don’t want to see this but I can’t tear my eyes from the scene. The Runner continues to moan. Lips touch my ear, warm breath whispering into it.

  ‘Fancy a bit of that, do ya?’

  ‘No!’ I say, red rising up my face.

  Sib laughs and her long legs resume their confident stride. She turns a corner and, heart racing, I slip down the road after her. Curiosity tries to tug me back. I ignore it, even though it pulls hard. I keep up with Sib. Why would that Runner risk being caught like that? I’ve only ever seen men do something so reckless for a moment of pleasure. Those nightcrawlers better finish the job and get moving, or they’ll all find themselves in Rock Vault.