by T. C. Edge
And while the youngsters down below might be excited by such an event, being there was a very different experience. One that, right now, I’d rather forget.
6
The morning brings with it a chill that’s more bitter than any I’ve felt in a while. Peeling off my blanket and sodden nightclothes, I’m quick to dress in my warmest winter attire, before sitting back down on the bed.
A few minutes later, Tess stirs, breaking from a sleep that was probably just as troubled as mine.
“What time is it?” she coughs, shivering underneath her covers.
I scoop up my old watch from the bedside table.
“7.30,” I say.
“Arg…why does my stupid body wake me up so early.”
“Habit,” I mutter, as she rolls over and tries to get some more sleep.
I don’t do the same. Frankly, I’m happy to be up, and would rather not give myself over to my subconscious again, keen as it seems to be to torment me with the carnage from yesterday.
Damn subconscious…
Instead, I leave Tess to her rare lie-in, and head downstairs for breakfast to find Drum hard at work in the kitchen, utilising his mighty strength as he stirs a giant pot of porridge. This week it’s his turn to prepare breakfast each morning.
“Need some help?” I ask him breezily.
He seems surprised to find me down there. Recently, I’ve been starting work too early to make breakfast, and have been dining out on those tasteless protein bars instead.
The porridge isn’t any better, but at least it’s warm.
“Hey Brie,” he says, showing off his ginormous gnashers through a smile he reserves for me. “You should rest. This is my job. But thanks for asking.”
“Really, Drum, I don’t mind. I’ll serve. How about that?”
After a brief bit of haggling he agrees, and I begin ladling portions of porridge into bowls. As I do, the noise outside in the canteen begins to grow as the kids come pouring in with an excessive amount of energy.
It’s obvious they’re even more excited and talkative than usual.
As Drum scoops up a few bowls to serve, I tell him to stay and that I’ll handle it. I know he gets teased by the kids, and when they’re in this sort of mood, they’re only going to be more irritating.
As I emerge from the kitchen, however, I realise that perhaps I haven’t thought this through. Immediately, I’m harassed again for further retellings of the previous day’s events, something I’m completely unwilling to relive.
This time I’m not so polite. I tell them in no uncertain terms that they’ve heard all they’re going to hear from me on the matter.
Thankfully, I hold just enough authority around here to calm them, only one or two throwing lacklustre obscenities my way for my trouble. I eye up a particularly difficult child, Brandon, who’s usually the chief stirrer among the louder boys, as a couple of swear words drip off his youthful, 13 year old lips.
“I heard that, Brandon,” I say, glaring at him. “Don’t make me tell Mrs Carmichael on you.”
That’s enough to shut him up. Mrs Carmichael has a strange aversion to swearing, especially among the younger members here. The younger they are, the worse her reaction.
It’s ironic, really, because she’s not short of the odd curse word herself. Especially after a glass or two of whiskey.
I try to keep busy that morning. Once breakfast is all over, I help Drum with the washing up, and we chat a little about his working prospects.
“I heard they need more workers on the outside,” he says. “You know, clearing the woods…”
“Drum, no way are you doing that!” I say. “You know why they need more workers for that?”
He shrugs.
“Because workers die all the time,” I say. “It’s dangerous out there, you know that.”
Work outside of the borders of Outer Haven is notoriously dangerous, and mostly considered a last resort for those in desperate need of money or rations. Generally, it involves clearing the toxic woods and lands beyond our borders, labour that the Unenhanced see to. Monitored, of course, by the Enhanced.
Even inside protective suits, people regularly get sick and end up dying from the suffocating toxic fog. And that’s not all they need to worry about. Outside of the city, other threats linger too…
It’s upsetting that Drum’s even considering it.
“Promise me you won’t go down there and sign up,” I tell him. “We’ll find something better for you. And you’ve always got Tess and me. You know that, right?”
He nods.
“Say the words, Drum.”
“I promise,” he mutters.
I step in and give him a short hug, failing as usual to wrap my arms around his gigantic trunk.
As I return to my room later than morning to take my pills, I make a note to talk to Mrs Carmichael about Drum.
Again.
Unfortunately, it’s a conversation I’ve had with her many times before. Try as she might, she’s found it hard getting him any sort of regular work. His size, clumsiness, and general simple-mindedness make him unappealing to most employers.
Back in the room, Tess appears to have roused herself. Looking fresh, and dressed up warm, her eyes sparkle with the promise of having the remainder of the day off.
“Let’s go out,” she says.
“Mrs Carmichael said we should hang out here,” I counter.
“Screw that. I wanna go back down to Culture Corner, see what’s going on down there.”
“You want to go back?” I ask, quite surprised to hear it.
“Yeah, sure. There’s not much else to do is there?”
She’s got a point. The entertainment around here is sorely lacking, and what there is will almost certainly be occupied by the increasingly annoying youngsters.
Just thinking about their incessant pestering is enough to get me to agree.
“Fine, I guess we could go,” I concede. “I’ll go check with Mrs…”
“Forget it, Brie. Don’t disturb her. We’re 18, and can go where we want.”
She rushes towards me, grabs my arm, and drags me straight out into the corridor. Before I know it, we’re moving out of the building and onto the street, the world rushing with an endless stream of activity outside.
It’s a clear day, which is quite rare, clear enough perhaps to get a good view of the western mountains from the higher ground of the eastern quarter. I ask Tess about going there instead, but she has less interest than me in the view, or in imagining what it must be like hiking up in the mountain valleys and passes.
Even the rumours about the mountain dwellers don’t seem to interest her.
“Nonsense, that’s all it is,” she says. “Those mountains are dead and empty.”
Tess can be quite the downer when she wants to be. She finds joy in so few things.
I don’t argue, but instead make a mental plan to head eastwards later that afternoon, with or without her. Truth be told, without might be better. Looking upon those mountains is something I like to do alone.
As we make our way towards the Conveyor Line, I make note of the increased presence of the City Guard around the streets. Up on the tops of buildings, hidden behind neon signs and transparent holograms, Hawks sit and spy on the world below. At larger intersections, heavyset Brutes stand primed for action, and Dashers await their orders, finding it hard to stay still for too long.
Seeing such a collection of Enhanced, of course, has an impact upon the population, who eye them with a mix of suspicion and awe. There’s a wariness about the place, a strange energy. It seems as though people are walking more rigidly than normal, talking in quieter tones.
At times like this, our collective behaviour needs to be impeccable. And we all know it.
Seeing sentry and security drones isn’t so uncommon around these parts. And yet still, their own numbers have burgeoned and swelled, the sky almost as busy as the streets for sheer numbers of flying contraptions.
As we reach a larger intersection, huge screens, usually filled with advertising, fill instead with news of the bombing. Video footage of the attack is played, provided by cameras hidden within high buildings and on drones, that give us a whole new perspective of it all.
We stop for a moment and watch, and in the bottom left corner of the screen see ourselves. Standing beside the mural, I see Tess grab my shoulder and fling me to the floor, just as the wall of fire spreads to where we were standing.
“Jesus,” I whisper. “I didn’t realise we were so close. You saved my life, Tess…”
She shrugs. “Think nothing of it. Just instinct.”
The scene continues to play out, and the flames disappear as quickly as they spread, followed by the rush of dark grey smoke. It all seems to happen so much faster watching it, rather than being there.
As Tess and I creep around the side of the mural again, and look upon the devastation, the camera appears to zoom in on us. It follows us as we stand for a split second, and then dart straight into the fray, quickly moving in to help. Then, the Dasher bursts as if from nowhere, issues his orders, and we’re seen tearing apart our jumpers and tending to wounds.
At the bottom of the screen, a headline reads:
Heroes of Outer Haven Save Lives…
We look at each other in astonishment, before the camera angle changes, focusing on another brave soul who ran straight in to help.
“Jeez…we’re famous!” laughs Tess.
I don’t much like the idea of it. Thankfully, the camera angle was from above us, and our faces were largely obscured by the smoke and mist.
Around us, plenty of other people are watching the screens. None of them, however, lend us a look. It’s enough to satisfy me that we shall remain nothing but anonymous heroes.
Then again, I don’t see myself as a hero at all. Tess, maybe, for saving my life.
But not me.
We don’t linger too long watching the giant screens, and quickly jump aboard the Conveyor Line towards Culture Corner. As we near, it’s obvious that the entire area has been cordoned off, the line ending prematurely and not venturing towards the main square as it usually would.
We step off and continue on foot, working our way through the bustling crowd. Soon enough, we’ve come to the end of the line, unable to move beyond a fence that’s been erected on the boundary of the square, guarded by our own police force from Outer Haven, known locally as Con-Cops.
Rumour has it, they’re made up of criminals who have been ‘reconditioned’ by special therapies. Exactly what this means, no one seems to know. But suffice to say, when these criminals go away, they come back as very different people, most of them turning into very loyal and efficient policemen.
It’s an effective method, I guess, of utilising those who have done wrong. They’d otherwise be eliminated, depending on the severity of their crimes, or sent for some other term of unpaid manual labour elsewhere. Those deemed appropriate for a life of service are instead made into Con-Cops, swapping a life of crime for one of protection.
Here in Outer Haven, however, criminals are not treated with much leniency. Anyone caught causing any sort of public infraction can easily find their life changing, or even ending, overnight. The Court have no tolerance for such things.
I suppose that comes with the territory when you’re cursed with total emotional detachment.
It makes sense, then, that everyone is acting particularly carefully now, with the streets so filled with City Guards and Con-Cops. Even pushing and shoving to the front of the queue to get a good look into the square, as Tess and I are doing now, might not be the best idea.
We do it nonetheless, and quickly realise that there isn’t much to see. The place has been swiftly cleaned up, all remains of bodies and old statues now having been removed, and the blood and dust washed away from the concrete floor.
On the outskirts of the square, however, other venues are still being cleaned. Theatres and other works of art remain dusty and blackened, their owners working to clean them up as they once were. I suspect that, for the time being at least, Culture Corner will remain rather quiet.
Still, the investigation appears to be ongoing. As we look forward, various officials appear in conversation. Tess taps me on the arm and draws my attention to one in particular.
“Hey, check it out…it’s our friend Deputy Burns.”
Amid the rabble, the Deputy appears, dressed exactly as he was yesterday and coolly managing the show. He appears to be addressing a group made up of members of the Council of the Unenhanced, as well as artists and venue owners most affected by the Fanatics’ crazed attack.
Among them, I see Humphrey. I doubt the desecration of his beloved mural seems so bad now, given that the entire square lies in ruin.
As I look at the Deputy, I feel the urge to sink away into the crowd again and disappear, my head starting to throb at the sight of him. I begin pressing back, and as I do so step on someone’s foot behind me. They yelp out loudly, and push me in the back.
“Watch where you’re going will you!”
I turn to see an aggressive looking woman glaring right at me, a redness around her eyes. I immediately wonder if she knew someone who died here yesterday, a thought that quells any desire to retaliate.
The stern voice of a Con-Cop behind the barrier provides another compelling reason.
“Hold up there, what’s the problem?” he asks firmly.
“Nothing…nothing,” I say. “Just an accident.”
The woman’s eyes redden further, narrowing.
“First you barge past me, then you stamp on my foot,” she cries. “I’ve been through enough as it is…”
She begins whimpering, confirming my suspicion.
Perhaps barging to the front wasn’t such a good idea.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
The Con-Cop steps in closer, drawing out an immobiliser, a simple baton they all carry with them. Its end begins buzzing menacingly, and he points it straight at me. One little tap with that, anywhere on my body, and I’ll go completely rigid, paralysed for a good few minutes.
Depending on what setting it’s on, it could be longer.
“You’ll keep calm, or I’ll take you both in,” shouts the Con-Cop, close enough now to zap us both.
Next to me, Tess tries to act mediator. It’s not a part she usually plays.
“It’s all OK, officer. Really, we’re all OK, right ladies?”
She turns to me, and the other woman, with glaring eyes. If she doesn’t shut the hell up soon, they’ll be hell to pay for us both.
Clearly maddened by grief, however, the woman’s having none of it, her cries and accusations only growing louder.
“Shut up!” I mouth to her. “Shut up!”
She doesn’t.
“One more peep out of you, and you’re getting stung!” shouts the Con-Cop right at her.
She doesn’t seem to listen, tears starting to flow freely down her cheeks. The man doesn’t take any notice whatsoever in her distress, stepping closer now and preparing to strike.
I look to the poor woman, and feel a surge of sympathy that compels me to act. As the guard’s arm coils up, I make my move, reaching out just as he’s about to strike and clutching at his wrist to hold him back.
“Don’t,” I shout at him. “She doesn’t deserve it! She’s just grieving!”
Behind me, I can feel Tess grabbing me, trying to pull me away.
“Brie! What the hell are you doing!” she grunts.
Unfortunately, it’s too late. I’ve acted now, and there’s no taking that back.
Oh crap…what have I done.
I look into the Con-Cop’s eyes, and see a menacing but cold stare. Like the Savants, there’s a look of detachment there, one that’s led to rumours that the therapies they go through are designed to suppress their emotions and make them more compliant.
With a sudden thrust, however, he pulls his immobi
liser away.
“You’ve done it now, girl,” he growls.
I can’t move, stuck in among the now chattering crowd as I am. I watch as the man lines me up, and prepares to strike. And just as he does, a call comes from behind him.
“Hold on right there.”
The voice is deep, precise and cool. It flows across from the square, and my eyes immediately rise up to see the lean figure of Deputy Burns come easing towards us, wrapped in his light grey suit and flanked by his towering guard of Brutes.
“Officer, stand down. I know these girls,” comes his voice.
The Con-Cop’s reaction is immediate. In one swift motion, the immobiliser shuts off and he swings it back to his belt, before taking a step back and standing as still as a statue.
Deputy Burns speaks again as he nears, stopping a good way away so as not to get too close to the crowd of Unenhanced.
How horrible it must be for him.
“Officer, let them through.”
The guard acts immediately, moving aside the barrier. Tess and I share a look, and step through. We’re been spared, saved by the bell.
Unfortunately, it’s not a bell I want to hear rung.
7
“Well, well,” says Deputy Burns, once more attempting to bring that odd smile to his face. “Brie Melrose and Tess Bradbury. What a surprise to find you both here.”
“Good afternoon, Deputy,” I say. “Sorry for causing a scene. It was a misunderstanding.”
“Oh, I trust that it was,” he says. “Come on over here, girls. I have something to speak with you about.”
We share a look. Tess’s eyebrows dip into a little frown, and mine do the same.
He’s not going to get in our heads again is he?
We move over towards him, and he hastily begins walking off to one side, away from the rabble of watching eyes. As always, his gigantic Brutes walk with him, holding their pace a little way behind at his order. They look alert, a constant vigilance in their narrow eyes.
