Squawk - Beginnings: The Dragon Games Revolution

by Craig Halloran

  “What say you judges?” the Count asked.

  The small group in maroon robes sat on the bench. The woman was in between two men. The man to her left rose from his seat and said, “Guilty.”

  The man to the right of her stood. “Guilty.”

  Please no. Please no. You can’t say guilty. Don’t say guilty.

  The Count held up her finger. Every person in the pavilion was on edge. “One vote saves. One vote condemns. What will it be, Judge?”

  The attractive judge, who no longer had paint on her eyes, stood up. “Guilty.”

  Two guards locked their arms around Saul’s and held him fast. The man didn’t kick or struggle.

  Gabe couldn’t stop screaming as the guards and Sage held him fast. “Don’t leave me, Dad! Don’t leave me!”

  The Count pulled out her gun. It was black as a foggy night. She stood only ten paces away from Saul. “The old law says, whoever sheds blood, so shall his blood be shed. Any last words, Saul?”

  Saul locked his eyes on his son. “I love you, son. Have faith.” He started to huff and puff. His muscles flexed in his jaws, and he began to tremble. Anger came over him. A new strength. An inner fire. He stared down the Count and said in a determined voice, “Let freedom r—”

  Ka-blam!

  Saul’s head rocketed backward. Blood splattered through the back of his skull. His dead body sagged in his captors’ arms.

  In a surge of desperate strength, Gabe tore away from Sage and the guards. He rushed onto the stage and locked his arms around his dead father, screaming, shaking, and crying. “Don’t leave me, Dad! You can’t leave me! Nooooooooo!”

  CHAPTER 34

  Gabe cradled his father, rocking and sobbing. He moaned. “No. No, no, no.” Blood pooled, soaking his pants. Saul’s face was lifeless. Different. It had become a horror. His father’s smile and warmth were erased forever, replaced by death.

  Guards tugged at him. They yelled at him. “Let go! Let go!”

  His bloody fingers clung to his father’s arms and clothing. He screamed at his captors. “Nooo! Noooo!”

  Something hard smacked the back of his head. Stars exploded in his eyes. His grip slipped.

  Strong-armed men dragged him away from Saul. The other guards picked up Saul’s body by the legs. They dragged him toward the edge of the platform in a trail of blood.

  Fingers stretched out before him, Gabe spit and slobbered. If he said any words, he did not know them. It was babble. Delirium. Sage stepped in front of him, blocking his view of his father. Gabe howled in rage. He squirmed from side to side. Saul’s body was hauled over the edge of the platform, and then his father’s body was gone.

  Sage spoke words to Gabe. The boy didn’t comprehend them. His searching gaze fell on the Count. The gun smoked in her hand. She talked in Malak’s ear. The red-haired man nodded, and his eyes gleamed with triumph.

  Then she cast her gaze on Saul. There was no remorse in her eyes. She held the gun up and addressed the crowd.

  Gabe’s senses cleared. Voices became distinct, the rumblings understood. His struggling subsided.

  “The blood law has been enforced!” the Count said. “I know many of you cared for Saul, but there will be no funeral, no celebration of his life. He died a criminal. He betrayed us all. His remains will be seen no more.”

  Gabe’s head sank. Emptiness filled him. The bloodthirsty expressions in the crowd had faded in moments. The hard lines had softened. Someone pleaded for a burial. Another cried foul.

  “Perhaps Saul was not alone in his treachery!” the Count shouted.

  The crowd fell silent.

  “The judgment is over.” She turned and motioned toward Gabe. “The blood was on Saul’s hands, not on his son’s. This young man is innocent. If you cross his path, remember that. Gabe is still part of our family here in Newton. He will be adopted by a true friend of our city.”

  A chill rushed through Gabe’s body. His trembling returned. The guards hauled him up to his feet. His thoughts raced. Adopted? What does that mean? I still have Mabel.

  “Come forward, Malak!” The Count shoved the weapon back inside her holster.

  Malak, in an appearance of humility, came front and center on the stage. He took a spot alongside the Count.

  She spoke in a loud voice. “Malak, understanding how grave the situation is, has agreed to take in Gabe as his own. I feel this is right, considering he lost one of his sons at the hands of Saul. But he has sworn to be good to Gabe and to raise him right.” She laid her hand on Malak’s brawny shoulder and shook it. “I trust him with this endeavor. Do you, Malak, swear to care for this young man as one of your own?”

  Twisting away from the crowd, he gave Gabe a telling look. There was no compassion in his eyes or voice when he replied in his gruff manner, “I swear it.”

  Gabe wanted to shout out against the madness, but his lips did not have the strength to speak. He wanted to run far away. Mabel. I still have family. I still have her. What about her?

  Hands up, the Count addressed the people. “You are dismissed. Put this horror behind you. A new sun shall rise. Sunny days lie ahead.”

  The people on the platform and in the arena began to disperse. Malak approached. He lifted Gabe’s chin with the knuckle of his index finger. “You’ll stay with me.”

  Averting his eyes, Gabe said, “What about my grandmother, Mabel? What happens to her? I watch out for her.”

  Malak gave the guards a nod. They released Gabe. He locked his fingers around Gabe’s bicep. “If you can find her, I’ll take care of her too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll give you an hour. Not a second more. Be back here, Gabe. Be obedient. You don’t want to start off on the wrong foot with me.” He squeezed until Gabe winced. “Don’t cross me.”

  As soon as Malak let go, Gabe sprinted off the stage. He weaved his way through the crowd and exited the pavilion. When he broke free of the flock, the tears started to flow again. He moved as if in a dream. He brushed against the buildings and stumbled over the streets. His legs were noodles. His will was gone.

  He wiped his eyes. The old hospital building that he’d lived in his entire life loomed ahead. He had to tell Mabel what had happened. Another terrifying thought streaked through his mind. What did Malak mean, if I can find her? Where else would she be?

  He entered the complex. His entire world had been turned upside down. He was too young to reconcile it all. Part of him wanted to crawl in a hole. Another part of him wanted to find Mabel. Picking up speed, he raced down the corridor toward the cafeteria. In a world where one day wasn’t much different than another, he had no doubt that she would be there. She always had been and always would be. He burst inside. In the back, Mabel’s table waited. Every seat was filled with a new person.

  Gabe rushed by every table, searching for her. “Where’s Mabel? Where’s Mabel?” The old ones played cards and board games. Some looked away. Others shook their chins. Hollowness hung in the room like death in a tomb.

  Gabe backed out, shaking his head. “No, she can’t be gone. She can’t be gone too.” He headed for the stairwell. He shoved the door open, slamming it into the back wall with a bang. Slipping into the darkness, he bounded up the steps three at a time, busting his knee more than once, before making it up to his floor. He huffed down the hallway, startling more than one person he passed. Gasping for breath, he entered his room. Everything was gone—his clothing. Their rations. Saul’s spear and dragon-hunting gear. Most importantly, Mabel was gone. He didn’t think she’d made it up to the top on her own to begin with, but he’d hoped for that anyway. He sank to his knees with nothing at all left inside him. He held his hand over his chest as if it was about to cave in. He couldn’t breathe. Everything he knew in his life, what little there had been, was gone.

  On the wall near the window, he studied the outline of the poster that once hung on the wall. It had a man on it. A fighter. He slammed his fist on the tiled floor. On hands and knee
s, he crawled into the bathroom. The only thing familiar was the faucet that dripped. The water was much louder than it had been before. The drops fell from the faucet’s neck, splattering on the porcelain.

  He balled up, crying until his tears were dry. Shoulders stooped, he headed out of his home. I’m going to run away. Run, run away.

  CHAPTER 35

  Hunger and fear had been the companions that had kept Gabe inside the compound. Now he was outside, baking in the hot sun, with a metal pail of soapy water in one hand and a stiff bristle brush in the other. He scrubbed circles over the painted NA that marked the block walls.

  “Get every speck of that garbage off the wall, boy. Do you understand me?” Malak said. He held a rod of iron in one hand. Rebar they called it. Two feet of metal. The senior hunter clacked it on the block wall. “And I don’t care if your arm falls off. Get it done, boy.”

  Without looking at the man, Gabe soaked the brush in the bucket. He slapped it back on the wall. He went at it, arm aching, shoulders burning. His stomach groaned. It hadn’t stopped groaning for a week. That was how long it had been since Saul had been killed.

  “You do a good job, I’ll feed you better. Do you understand me, boy?” Malak poked him in the back with the rod. “Do you hear me? I’m a fair man. I took you in. But you need to realize that your father is gone. You have no family left but me. When I’m satisfied you’ve come to that realization, I’ll fill your scrawny, undeserving belly.” Fists on his hips, he reared back. He twisted from side to side, producing some cracking sounds in his joints. “Ah. That feels better.” He spit in Gabe’s bucket. “Listen, you spawn of a murderer. I’m your father now. Respect it.” He looked over his shoulder.

  Jubal was a younger image of his father with hair like a brush fire. He’d speak to Gabe sometimes but never looked right at him. He said, “He doesn’t seem to be very thankful to me, Father. I’d say he’s ungrateful. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t feed him a thing.”

  “We’ll see. We’ll see.” Malak patted his son’s shoulder. “Keep an eye on him, but don’t let him dehydrate. It’s sweltering today, and if he passes out, then you’ll have to do the work.” He stuffed a canteen in Jubal’s arms. “I’ll be back when I’m back.”

  Seconds after Malak departed, Jubal leaned against the wall. He took a long drink from the canteen. “Aaah! That’s some good water. Cool even.”

  Gabe switched the brush from one hand to the other. Staring at the wall, he scrubbed and scrubbed. The same routine had gone on for the last three days. Malak sent him out to work with no more than a handful of rice in his belly. He worked the walls, sunup to sundown. None of the paint on the walls wanted to give. All it did was leave a smear. In the meantime, if Malak didn’t lord it over him with callous comments, Jubal did. Gabe hated them both. One was just as guilty as the other of his father’s death.

  Dad’s not guilty. Don’t forget that! He’s not guilty! The Count’s a murderer too!

  He shoved the brush into the bucket. He gave it a swirl and slung it out. Water splashed onto Jubal’s clothes.

  “Watch what you’re doing.” Jubal shoved him in the head. “Say you’re sorry.”

  Jaw set, Gabe kept scrubbing the wall.

  “I said, say you’re sorry!”

  The brush scratched over the block. He put his arm into it.

  Jubal’s chest began to heave. “I’m not going to say it again, Gabe. Say you’re sorry!”

  Gabe shot a look up at Jubal. “You’re sorry.”

  Jubal’s eyes popped wide open. The much bigger boy drove his boot into Gabe’s belly, making him double over. It was the first of many kicks. With his arms and body, Gabe tangled up Jubal’s legs. Jubal hit him in the head with the canteen. “Let go of me, you spawn!”

  Some other adults came in, pulling the boys apart. Malak arrived an instant later. His face was hot with fury. “What is going on here?” He picked up the empty bucket. The soapy contents had spilled out on the ground. “That’s great.” He eyed Jubal. “Out with it.”

  “The spawn’s mouth is too big for his own good. I offer him water, he tells me to stick it,” Jubal said.

  Brow raised, Malak asked, “Is that so, boy?”

  Rubbing the back of his head, he gave a shrug.

  “I see.” Taking the canteen from Jubal, Malak poured the contents into the bucket. He spit in it. “You can scrub with your own water now. If the heat drains you, it drains you. But tomorrow will be even worse than it was today. Your belly will be green and miserable. It will feel like the end for you.”

  Gabe took the bucket. He dipped his brush in it and resumed scrubbing all over again.

  Malak squatted down beside him. He whispered in Gabe’s ear, “What you’re doing is easy. I can make it hard. Real hard. Don’t think for a moment I don’t know what you’re thinking. You’re more man than a boy now. You want vengeance, don’t you? I’ll be waiting for you to try it. When you do, I’ll be ready, and like your father, you’ll be nothing but a rotting log of flesh, covered in flies, baking under the sun by day, nibbled on by buzzards at night. Makes your stomach twist, doesn’t it?”

  Gabe swallowed. His eyes teared up.

  “I can still smell him. See him. My stomach twisted too.” Malak formed a circle with his thumb and index finger. “Yay big. That’s how big the hole in Saul’s skull was.”

  Gabe stopped scrubbing. His chin quivered.

  “You never forget a sight like that. Or that smell. It gives you the cold sweats at night.” Malak took a long draw through his nose. He rose back up. “But one gets used to it. I’m used to it.” He poked Gabe with the iron rod. “Don’t make me get too used to it, spawn. Quench those vengeful fires, and move on.”

  Gabe nodded and resumed scrubbing.

  CHAPTER 36

  The days went by, agonizing, slow. Gabe woke up on the hard floor of Malak’s apartment, rubbing his eyes. The lead dragon hunter and his family lived in a cove much like what Gabe had grown up in. It was bigger and in a different hospital building. It had more furnishings that included a sofa, dining tables, and chairs. The dingy window made the room seem bigger than it actually was. There were curtains, too, in a dark blue that doused the sun’s bright morning light.

  He stretched his back. Nearby, on a cot, Jubal stirred. His legs hit the floor as he shook his head. He caught Gabe looking at him. A scowl formed on his face. Gabe looked away.

  There was a table with five chairs, each of a different make. Malak’s wife, a bitter-faced woman who hardly ever said a word, filled four bowls with oatmeal and steaming hot water. Malak emerged from the bathroom, shirtless. He scratched his belly before taking a seat at the table. Jubal joined him, as did the mother. She tied her flaxen hair back in a bun. She’d never said a single word to Gabe. Not once. She’d never even given him so much as a glance.

  “Come on, boy. Eat.” Malak motioned to Gabe with his chin. “While it’s hot. You’ll need your strength for the long day ahead.”

  Head down, Gabe made his way to the table. Malak always called him boy. Never Gabe. He treated him as if he wasn’t a real person.

  Gabe lifted the chair, sat down, and scooted forward without making a noise. He’d learned to do anything in his power to not draw any attention to himself. Malak or Jubal got after him over everything. With his spoon, he ate slowly and easily. The metal flatware of Malak and his family scraped over the porcelain bowls. It was like that every day—a mind-numbing routine rife with tension. Gabe hated it. He knew they enjoyed it.

  He chewed slowly, not taking his eyes off the hot bowl of meal. It was tasteless, warm goo. Malak and Jubal had an allotment of honey they added to theirs. They never offered any to Gabe. He never asked. The pair of them did moan on about it, commenting on the honey’s enhancing flavor. Sometimes Jubal layered it on saying, “It’s good. So good.”

  Gabe never said a word. He ate until he was finished. After fifteen minutes in their company, he was more than ready to get back outside to the back-br
eaking work. Being among them only made him miss his father more. The food he’d eaten at his own table hadn’t been much better, but Saul had a way of making it taste better. He’d say funny, stupid things like, “Ah, what are we having today? Gray mud sautéed in dragon poop. That’s a delicacy where I come from. Even the Dominion in their cement towers don’t have it so good.” Saul would devour a huge spoonful and say, “More dragon poop for me, please.”

  A smile formed on his face. He couldn’t tell if his giggle was inward or outward. He felt eyes all over him. Malak and Jubal glared at him.

  “Is there something you care to share with us, boy?” Malak hooked his elbow over the back of his chair. “You find our company amusing?”

  Gabe tightened his lips.

  Malak’s fist hit the table like a hammer, jostling everything. Everyone lurched in their chairs aside from Malak, who said, “Out with it, boy!”

  “I-I don’t know. I’m sorry!”

  “Don’t you raise your voice to me!” Malak hit the table again. “Ever! Now, tell me, what amuses you!”

  “Just something my father would say about oatmeal. He’d joke about it from time to time!”

  “Really? And what was that?”

  “He’d say it was the same dragon poop that the Dominion would eat.” He kept his head cast down and his hands clutched at the sides of his chair. “Something like that.” He cringed.

  “You ungrateful whelp. You say my wife’s meal tastes like dragon shit!”

  “No, that’s not what I—”

  Malak backhanded him so hard the chair tipped over. Gabe’s head hit the floor.

  Malak slung the bowl across the room. “I better not hear about your murdering father underneath my roof or anywhere else again.”

  ***

  Gabe spent the rest of the day paired up with Jack. Malak had given Jack strict orders to not let Gabe out of his sight and to let him know if he was slacking off. Jack delighted in the task. As for Gabe, he was fine with it. Anything was better than having Jubal watching over him like a hawk.