Last Fight

by S. J. Bryant

  CHAPTER SIX

  Aart woke the next morning to knocking on the door.

  "Hello? Excuse me, is anyone there?"

  Aart frowned and sat up, his shoulders aching in protest. He never would have imagined that catching locusts could be so exhausting. The skin on his face stung, and when he reached up to touch it, he found it burnt and peeling.

  "Hello?" More knocking.

  The others were already awake and Cole went to the door. He opened it to reveal a thin boy with ragged clothes.

  "Hello."

  "Hello." Cole glanced at a screen by the door. "Oh, you're a new recruit. Charl, is it?"

  "Yes," Charl said.

  Cole went to Gin's bed, gathered Gin's few possessions and tossed them under the mattress. "This is yours."

  "Thanks." Charl placed his folded overalls on top of the twisted sheets.

  Aart's stomach clenched. He pulled on his boots and, while pretending to fiddle with the laces, he glanced beneath his own bed. Clothes, knick-knacks, shoes. How many people had used the bed before him? And where were they now?

  Aart's heart raced but he tried to keep his face expressionless. He had to be careful. There was no doubt in his mind now that something was going on and Cole and the others knew what it was.

  Cole introduced each of them to Charl. Aart nodded when his name was called.

  "Get dressed," Cole said. "And I'll show you the fields."

  Aart went about his own business and was the last left inside the building with Charl.

  "How long have you been here?" Charl said.

  "Just a couple of days." The others may have gone out of their way to exclude Aart, but he wouldn't do that to Charl. If he was going to get to the bottom of this then he needed as many friends as he could get.

  "I'm so excited. I'm going to make money to send home to my folks. They're not doing so good. When I heard I could make credits here, I was on the first transporter over. My parents didn't want me to come but I didn't want to stay there and be a burden, you know? I—"

  Aart stared at him.

  "I talk too much, don't I?"

  Aart shrugged. "It's a welcome change to the usual silence."

  "My pa always says I talk too much. Says I should pay more attention to what I'm doing then what I'm saying. He gave me this before I left." Charl help up his arm to reveal a thin bracelet of twisted cord. "He said it would bring me luck. He said his pa gave it to him when he first left home. Amazing, isn't it? I think—"

  "Charl! You'll miss your quota," Cole bellowed from outside.

  "Oh!" Charl's face lost all color and he darted out of the wooden building.

  Aart followed behind. After the incident with Gin and the weird silence of his fellow coworkers, Charl made a welcome distraction.

  Aart set up in his own part of the field and went back to the mind-numbing task of collecting locusts. Jen and Berry had seemed almost willing to talk the day before—at least about where Gin had gone. It was Cole that didn't want anyone talking; Aart just had to get the others away from him.

  Aart glanced up from the crops. Cole was showing Charl how to work the deposit bin and the nearest enforcers were at the other end of the field. He edged through the plants toward Jen and Berry.

  "Hey," he said.

  "Seems like a good lad," Jen said, nodding toward Charl.

  "Yeah," Aart said. "About last night…"

  Jen and Berry shared a glance. "We can't talk about it," Jen said.

  "But—"

  "Sorry, love," Berry said. "If it were up to us there'd be no secrets, but Cole has a way of doing things. If we go against him…"

  "We're too old for that," Jen said.

  Berry nodded.

  "Too old for what?" Aart said. "How can everyone know what's going on except me?"

  "Well, you and Charl now," Jen said.

  "Just tell me."

  "We're not doing that," Jen said. "Cole may seem nice enough, but he's called the enforcers on people before. Sorry, love, but when it comes down to you or us… we have to pick us."

  They sidled away from him through the field. Aart stared after them. If it came down to him or them? What did that even mean? That made it sound like they were talking about a war, not harvesting locusts.

  Jen and Berry were too scared to talk, Zap refused, and Cole was the reason none of them were talking. That just left Fillup and Drax.

  Aart peered at them over the top of the plants. Fillup towered over the field and his large hands left the locusts no room to escape. Aart edged toward him.

  "Hey, Fillup. What do—?"

  "I don't talk," Fillup said.

  "What?"

  "I know what you want to ask. I don't talk about it. I spend enough time in the shed as it is; I don't need to give the enforcers a reason to drag me there early." Fillup ambled away; his huge body left a path of bent crops in his wake.

  Aart stared after him. The shed… why did they keep talking about the shed? What did it mean?

  Aart sighed and snatched a locust from a nearby branch. It flicked its powerful wings but couldn't get free of Aart's grip. He tossed it into the basket where it flew about, banging against the sides but not getting anywhere. Aart knew exactly how it felt.

  The only person left to talk to was Drax. Aart looked up only to find Drax grinning at him with too many teeth. Aart shivered. He didn't want to talk to Drax, but he didn't have much of a choice, so he dragged his feet across the field, half-heartedly snatching locusts on the way.

  "Is it my turn at last?" Drax said. "I was beginning to feel left out."

  "I just want to know about the shed, about where they took Gin, about what's going on that none of you are telling me, and I want to know where my friend is."

  "That's a lot of questions."

  "I've got more, but that's where I'm starting."

  "What friend?"

  Aart considered his options. It wouldn't hurt him any if Drax found out about Delia, and if the weaselly man knew where she was…

  "Her name's Delia. She came here about two months ago and she's missing."

  "No one goes missing on Raster," Drax said, tapping the lump on his neck. "Remember?"

  "Well, no one can tell me where she is, and she's stopped getting in contact."

  "I tell you what," Drax said. "I'll tell you where I last saw Delia, if you tell me where you were before coming here."

  "You knew Delia?"

  Drax nodded.

  "Where? Where is she?"

  "You answer my question first."

  "Bounty hunter, I'm a bounty hunter, just like you said," Aart said. Finally! A lead to Delia, and it hadn't cost him anything at all.

  "Really?" Drax raised an eyebrow. "It was the only thing I could think of. So what are you doing here then?"

  "My turn," Aart said. "Where is she?"

  "I last saw Delia getting taken to the shed."

  "What? Where is the shed? What is it?"

  "Ah." Drax shook his finger. "One question each; that was the deal."

  "She's my friend! If you know where she is then you need to tell me. What's so special about this shed anyway?"

  Drax chuckled and backed away. "One question each."

  Aart strode forward and snatched the front of Drax's overalls. "Tell me where—"

  "What's going on here?" Cole appeared between them and shoved Aart away from Drax.

  "He was asking questions about the shed," Drax said. "Got mad when I wouldn't answer."

  "Is that true?" Cole said.

  "He said that—"

  "Is it true?"

  Aart's nostrils flared, over Cole's shoulder he could see Drax smirking at him. If he could get his hands on the rat he'd…

  "Aart!"

  "Yes, I was asking about the shed. But only because—"

  "Enough! Drax, get back to work."

  Drax winked at Aart and then sauntered away through the field.

  Cole glared at Aart. "I thought I made it clear last night that
there would be no more talk about the shed."

  "But my friend might be there! I need to know where—"

  "All you need to know is how to harvest locusts," Cole said. "I might have let Zap get away with helping you yesterday but it won't happen again. I suggest you stop trying to disrupt everybody else and focus on your own work. And if you bring up the shed again, I will get the enforcers here."

  The sparkle was gone from Cole's eyes.

  "I—"

  "Do you understand?" Cole said.

  Aart bit his lip. He had no choice. "Yes."

  "Good. Get back to work. And if—"

  Cole was interuppted by a blood-curdling scream. Both Aart and Cole spun in the direction of the noise, toward the deposit bin. Charl hunched beside it, screeching, with one arm inside the chute.

  "What the hell…?" Cole darted forward, Aart raced after him.

  The other workers and the nearest enforcer converged on the deposit bin. Aart and Cole got their first.

  Charl's arm disappeared inside the chute and blood spattered across his face and shoulder.

  "What happened?" Cole said.

  Charl screamed and tugged on his arm but it didn't come free.

  Aart grabbed Charl's shoulders and pulled. Cole grabbed his waist and did the same. They yanked and Charl came free, knocking all three of them to the ground.

  Charl's arm ended in a bloody stump where his hand should have been. Blood poured out in regular spurts and coated the ground.

  Aart snatched the torn sleeve of Charl's overalls and ripped it free. He wrapped the strip around Charl's mutilated wrist as tight as he could and the blood slowed.

  "What's going on here?" the enforcer said.

  Charl gaped at his stump. "My pa's bracelet. It fell into the machine. I tried to get it out but—"

  "You idiot boy!" Cole said. "What did you think was in there?"

  Fillup, Zap and Drax stayed back. Jen and Berry knelt to either side of Charl and held him upright.

  "He needs medical help!" Aart said to the enforcer. "Get a stretcher or vehicle."

  The enforcer met Aart's eyes then glanced down at Charl. "Get out of the way," he said to Jen and Berry.

  Jen looked up at him. "Surely… he's just a boy, only started today."

  "Get out of the way."

  Jen and Berry eased Charl to the ground and stepped back.

  "What are you doing?" Aart said. "He needs a blood transfusion."

  The enforcer shouldered Aart out of the way, pulled the gun from his belt, and fired.

  The blast hit Charl in the middle of his forehead and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  "No!" Aart fell to his knees.

  "Get back to work," the enforcer said. "Don't think this will change your quotas."

  Aart gaped at Charl's lifeless body, and then at the enforcer. What had just happened? The scene kept playing in Aart's head. Charl's bloody arm, the enforcer, gun, bang. Arm, enforcer, gun, bang. Arm, enforcer—

  "Aart!" Jen shook Aart's shoulders. "Aart, snap out of it. You've got to get back to work."

  "But—"

  Jen dragged him up, spun him around, and shoved him toward the field.

  The enforcer's voice sounded behind them. "Yep, I'm gonna need a body bag. South Field A. Yep, I know. Like flies."

  "But—" Aart tried to turn but Jen shoved him forward.

  She kept pushing him until they reached the other end of the field and the crops hid Charl's body from sight.

  "He needed…" Aart stared at Jen but all he could see was Charl. Bile rose in Aart's throat and he spun away, hurling into the plants.

  "Let it out," Jen said. She rubbed his back.

  "They could have saved him." Aart stared down at the ground, his hands on his knees.

  "It's not cost-effective."

  "What?" Aart turned to her, bleary eyed.

  "Medical treatment costs more than a worker is worth. It's cheaper to get rid of them."

  "No," Aart said.

  Jen nodded.

  "Who would do that? That enforcer… he didn't even blink."

  "I think most of them enjoy it."

  "But…"

  "Didn't you check the stats for this place before you arrived? One of the highest accident rates you'll ever find."

  "And the Confederacy general who owns it is okay with that?"

  "Oh, I don't think he knows," Jen said. "As far as Confederacy lackeys go, he's one of the reasonable ones. No; the enforcers really run things and they pocket the saved costs."

  "Charl was saving money to send to his family."

  Jen winced. "It's best not to think about it. Why do you think none of us ask questions about each other? It's best not to know because then when something happens… well… it's easier not to care then."

  "But—"

  "Get back to work, love, don't think about it."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The evening after they shot Charl, Aart stumbled into the wooden building and went to bed without eating. He wrapped his arms over his chest and stared at the wall. He tried to ignore the lice that emerged from his mattress and crawled across his skin, biting and itching. In the back of his mind he could hear the others talking, but he couldn't bring himself to decipher the words.

  He'd seen bad things on Goldson, terrible things, like when the Confederacy collapsed the tunnel on poor Billy and the other trapped miners. But this… shooting Charl point-blank in the head—

  Aart's stomach rolled. He pressed his lips together and swallowed. He had to get away from Raster. He couldn't stay in a place like this, it was too much like Goldson, and if he got trapped here… but what about Delia? He'd made a promise to her father to find her and help her. He couldn't go back on his word.

  The door banged open and something clattered on the floor.

  Aart sat up and turned.

  Gin lay curled into a ball on the floor just inside the door. Bruises covered his face and dried blood caked his hands.

  Aart caught a flash of enforcers' uniforms outside but they disappeared a moment later.

  "Gin!" Aart got out of bed and ran to Gin's side.

  Berry and Cole got there first and carried Gin to his bed while Jen fetched a rag and a bucket of tepid water. Jen wiped the wet rag over Gin's face and hands. Blood smeared over his skin.

  "What happened to him?" Aart said. "The enforcers did this?"

  "Thirsty," Gin said in a hoarse voice.

  Aart ran to the sink and fetched a glass of water. He held it to Gin's lips. Most of it dribbled around his mouth and carried trails of red blood onto Gin's pillow—Charl's pillow that morning.

  "You're all right," Jen cooed. She scrubbed with the rag until the water in the bucket went crimson. Even then, blood caked the undersides of Gin's fingernails and his bruised face squeezed his right eye closed.

  Aart looked around at the other workers. Jen, Berry, and Cole seemed concerned but not surprised. The others hadn't even bothered to get out of their chairs.

  "He's all right," Jen said. "You can go back to bed, Aart; I'll keep an eye on him."

  Aart stared at her. "But—"

  "Go back to bed, love."

  Aart dragged his feet across the wooden floorboards and lay down. Gin had gone to the shed, that's what they'd said, and he'd come back even more beaten than when he'd left. What did that mean?

  Gin had been nice to Aart, more welcoming than the others. Perhaps when he was feeling better he could tell Aart a little more. Anything would be more than what he'd managed to learn so far.

  Aart tossed and turned for most of the night and only managed a few hours sleep. He woke up feeling worse than when he'd gone to bed but dragged himself up all the same. No matter what had happened to Gin and Delia, Aart still had a contract with the plantation and he didn't want to give them any excuse to extend it.

  Aart pulled on his boots and took the time to study Gin. More bruises had appeared overnight, across his arms and legs, and purple and green splotches covered his s
wollen cheeks.

  "Is it that bad?" Gin said. He stared at Aart and his puffy lips distorted the words.

  "No." Aart dropped his gaze.

  "I bet it feels worse than it looks." Gin sat and held his head in his hands.

  "I don't think you should get up."

  "Ha! Do you think the quota stops for a few bruises?"

  Aart faltered. "What? But they did this to you—"

  "Welcome to Raster."

  Gin struggled into his overalls while the others went out into the bright sunlight.

  Aart hesitated at the door. "How are you going to catch locusts like that? You can barely see."

  "People have managed with worse. Don't worry about me; worry about your own quota."

  Gin brushed past Aart and staggered out into the field with his basket.

  Aart had no other option so he followed suit and focused on the locusts.

  If the other workers refused to tell him what he needed to know, then he'd have to investigate on his own. But he couldn't go anywhere with the tracking chip in his neck. He reached up and felt the lump.

  Near noon, Aart emptied his basket into the deposit bin. Gin worked not far away, but he'd only filled half his basket and he swayed under the weight of it. There was no way he'd make two baskets by nightfall—he might not even stay standing that long.

  Aart bit his lip. He didn't like to take advantage of people when they were down, but his companions had left him little choice.

  He strode out into the fields and snatched at locusts like he'd never done before. He grabbed two at once and shoved them into his basket then with his other hand, he caught two more.

  His arms ached and his shoulders felt like they would fall apart, but he kept going, pushing past the pain. He spent the next three hours in a mad frenzy until he'd filled his basket for a second time. He tossed it into the deposit bin and went to work again.

  The sun reached the horizon and cast a fiery orange glow over the fields. Cole rang the bell and the other workers poured their baskets into the deposit bin, all except Aart and Gin.

  Gin staggered between the crops and swatted at the locusts but he moved too slow. In the five minutes Aart spent watching him, he didn't catch a single one.