Truancy Origins (46 page)

Edward stood up and looked around, wary. If his hunch was right, and someone had recently passed by, then District 19 might be more dangerous than he suspected. At that moment, a voice spoke from behind him, and Edward nearly jumped out of his skin.

“You've been searching for a long time. May I ask what you're looking for?”

Edward spun around, prepared for a fight. Then he froze, for what stood before him now as not a vagrant, but a strange boy wearing black sunglasses and a smirk.

 

Y
ou look awful.”

“Mind your own business.”

“I thought we'd settled this, Rothenberg. Your physical and mental state
is
my business.”

Rothenberg grimaced, his cup of coffee cold in his hands. Despite having had no sleep at all following the previous night's haunting excursion into District 19, he hadn't been that troubled until the Mayor's aide had showed up. Upon returning to Enforcer Headquarters, he had been greeted with the news that some of the scouts he had deployed on foot had managed to enter District 13 without setting off the explosives that were designed to take out vehicles. One of them had spotted signs of recent Truancy activity, and so Rothenberg had found himself facing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to corner a large group of the kids in their own lair. Rothenberg had just begun to plan the attack when Jack had shown up with his usual determination to get in Rothenberg's way.

“What more do you want from me?” Rothenberg demanded. “I'm here, I'm doing my job, I'm making progress—”

“I've seen no evidence of this supposed progress.”

“Look at the search plans!” Rothenberg said. “Look at the patrol activity! Look at the abandoned districts we've already secured!”

“I've seen the search plans, and frankly the disappearing patrols are more worrying than anything else,” the Mayor's aide said. “It's hard to know how much progress you're making, Rothenberg, if you don't tell me what you're searching for or how close you might be to finding it.”

“We're getting close,” Rothenberg insisted. “If the reports I got today are true, we might even find it today. We've been securing the abandoned districts, and I think we might finally be up to the one we're looking for.”

“Securing the abandoned districts from
what
?” Jack demanded.

“You know damn well I can't tell you that,” Rothenberg snarled. “Go back and tell the Mayor that my strategy is working fine, it's just a matter of time.”

“All I ever see are the same task forces going into the abandoned districts and coming out with fewer patrols than went in. I think the Mayor is going to want a more detailed explanation.”

“Listen,” Rothenberg said, “I've got some important information that we're going to act on, and I'm going to be extremely busy. Now you can go back and tell the Mayor whatever you want, but if he wants me to succeed then he'll get you out of my goddamn hair. I can't plan a major raid with some pompous assistant breathing down my neck!”

“A major raid?” Jack repeated, eyes narrowing.

Rothenberg scowled and said nothing, realizing that he had already given away too much. It wouldn't do for the Mayor or anyone else to suspect that a bunch of kids were planning rebellion. As pathetic as it might be, the very whisper of open resistance would mean serious trouble.

“I'm going to leave you to plan this ‘raid' of yours, Rothenberg,” the Mayor's aide said, “and I will hold off on my report to the Mayor until the end of the week. But the deadline is approaching and the Mayor is growing impatient. Pray that you have some results to show him soon.”

With that, Jack turned around and left Rothenberg's office, his brown leather jacket slung over one shoulder. Rothenberg fumed for a moment, and then pressed a button on his desk to summon a subordinate who ran in with a salute.

“How go the preparations?” Rothenberg demanded.

“We've completely surrounded District 13 from all sides that are in contact with a living district,” the man said. “We moved in one patrol at a time using different routes, just like you ordered. We've stayed out of the neighboring abandoned districts because we don't want to set anything off that might let them know we're coming, so there's a small chance that we might see some escapees when we move in. But if we do it fast enough I think that possibility is slim.”

“Agreed,” Rothenberg muttered. “Do we have that helicopter support I requested to track any runners?”

“Yes, sir, and the advance scouts have already identified likely escape routes.”

“Excellent.” Rothenberg stood up. “I would go myself, but every second counts. As soon as the last patrols are in position, move in and attack from
all sides. Unless we find our primary suspect, I don't want a single survivor to leave District 13.”

 

W
hen Umasi awoke the sun was already beating down through a window of the apartment. Umasi blinked, then reached to the side for his sunglasses. As his hand found two separate pairs, Umasi remembered that he had forgotten to return one to his nameless companion. That remembrance triggered another memory, and he smiled. She had never noticed that during their last fight, he had slipped his account card into her pocket.

Dragging himself out of bed, Umasi dressed and prepared a light breakfast. As he worked he glanced over at the counter, where piles of bills now lay stacked, all recently withdrawn from his account. When things calmed down he would open a new account. But for now card or no, money was unlikely to be a problem for him.

His appetite diminished following his time as a vagrant, Umasi left his apartment after a light breakfast. The bright sun set the snow aglitter, but he knew it would take a while to melt it all. Nonetheless, Umasi decided to take a walk through the snow. He could not fully appreciate the transformed landscape through his sunglasses, but the trek would be good exercise and he had little else left to do.

As he walked through the district Umasi found that he had become familiar enough with District 19 to recognize some landmarks. Soon he came to a stop in the shadow of a building that he recognized as the one from which he and his nameless companion had observed approaching Enforcers. Remembering the view, Umasi felt a sudden impulse to climb back up the building and observe the district from above.

Swiftly scaling the icy ladder of the fire escape, Umasi breathed the open air on the rooftop and shut his eyes to listen to the world beneath him. He heard cars in the distance, and shouts, and crows, the urban birds of the City. Then his eyes snapped open, for he heard the unmistakable crunch of footsteps several blocks away. Umasi lowered his sunglasses, squinting across the snowy landscape. A lone figure was making its way determinedly through the snow. It didn't look like an adult, and Umasi thought that he caught a hint of gray—the color of a student uniform.

His curiosity aroused, Umasi returned to the fire escape and back to the ground as fast as he could. Slipping into the ground floor of an abandoned clothing store, he was able to look out of the show windows while remaining completely hidden himself.

As the boy passed by, Umasi was able to get a good look at him even through his shades. The student had soft features, with thin eyebrows that gave a shrewd and intelligent appearance. He seemed curious as he glanced
around the district with green eyes, clearly looking for something. The boy stopped to inspect a depression in the snow, and Umasi felt a sudden urge to reveal himself. He knew that he should be careful about who he was seen by, but the other children he had confided in had proven themselves to be trustworthy. What's more, Umasi hadn't spoken to a student since before he had left home, and he now felt a keen longing to contact this grayuniformed boy.

What was the worst that could happen? Umasi decided to throw caution to the winds as he silently stepped out of the store and into the open.

“You've been searching for a long time,” he said. “May I ask what you're looking for?”

The boy spun around and for a moment Umasi was taken aback. The child's expression was positively dangerous, like that of a wild animal about to pounce, and his hand seemed to twitch towards his belt. Then the next moment it was gone, and he looked merely surprised, his thin eyebrows raised high.

“I'm not sure,” the boy said. “It might be you.”

“Could you elaborate?”

“I saw the Enforcers snooping around here yesterday. I figured that there must be something important hidden in here and I couldn't resist checking.”

“You are aware, of course, that students are forbidden from entering the abandoned districts?”

“So then you're not a student?”

Umasi smiled in spite of himself. The boy was certainly no idiot.

“No. My name is Umasi.”

“I'm Edward,” Edward said, offering his hand. “I'm a student from the District 18 School, and a resident of the local orphanage.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Umasi shook the hand, already intrigued. If Edward himself had any curiosity about Umasi, he hid it well; Umasi instantly felt comfortable around the boy. “My lemonade stand isn't far from here. Would you mind joining me for a drink?”

 

Y
ou've been planning coming down here for a while, Zyid. Mind if I ask why it's so important?”

“It's not a long distance, and I was curious, I must confess,” Zen said, tapping his crowbar on his shoulder. He had begun carrying it around as a reminder of how close he had come to death. “Having never had the chance to inspect this district thoroughly myself, I wanted to see what arrangements you've made here. After all, you've done an excellent job in setting up our mining crews all over the City.”

“That's quite a compliment, coming from you.”

“I never give idle praise,” Zen said, his crowbar freezing in midair. “Our work is only going to grow more difficult from here, and we're going to have to adapt accordingly. For example, I believe that this hideout may now be too large.”

Indeed, that was one thing that had struck Zen as he followed Frank up the stairwell of the hideout, sticking his head into the hallways on each floor. It was an elaborate operation; every other floor seemed to be occupied by Truants, some working on coordinating various crews around the City, though others were merely lounging around. The building was one of many cookie-cutter apartments of District 13 that used to be occupied by poorer citizens, though it was still in decent condition.

When he had first entered with Noni in tow, Zen had walked under a pristine green awning and through a pair of polished glass doors into the lobby. He had been offered the option of using the building's elevators—which were still functional—but had declined, instead choosing to take the tour on foot. Noni had split off on the second floor, drawn by a door that had been labeled
SUPPLIES
with a black permanent marker, leaving Zen alone to converse with Frank up on the seventh floor.

“What makes you say it's too large?” Frank asked as they stepped into the seventh-floor hallway.

“We want to be as discreet and as scattered as possible at the moment,” Zen explained as he looked into one room where a number of Truants were operating a variety of communication devices. “We are aiming to outlast Rothenberg with a minimum of casualties. We cannot consolidate until the time comes when we have an army ready to take the Enforcers head-on.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” Frank said. “So how soon should we—”

Frank never got to finish his question, because at that moment a Truant burst out of one of the rooms of the hall, looking frantic. Spotting Zen, he let out something between a whimper and a cry of relief, and dashed over to the Truancy leader.

“Zyid!” the boy gasped. “Trouble, big trouble!”

“What is it?” Zen demanded.

“Some of our scouts in this district have spotted a . . . a huge number of Enforcer patrols . . . approaching our location.”

There was a moment of stunned disbelief as Frank gaped at the boy. Other Truants that had heard him, or who had somehow sensed the change in atmosphere, also turned to stare. The building fell silent. Zen, however, remained as cool as dry ice.

“Any idea how they managed to get in undetected?”

“N-no, sir, some of our guys in the living districts reported one or two
patrols moving by them at a time, but never more than that, and never following the same route—”

“How much time do we have until they reach us?”

As if in response, somewhere far below there came the sound of shattering glass and stamping feet. The Enforcers had broken in through the front doors. Loud footsteps issued from the stairwell, and the floor indicators on the two elevators started descending. The Truants were frozen, teetering on the verge of panic. Then Zen spoke up, his calm but urgent voice breaking the spell.

“Barricade the stairwell,” he ordered. A number of Truants immediately scrambled to move furniture in front of the door. As they worked, Zen turned to Frank. “Are the elevators rigged to explode?”

“Well, yes, we planted explosives throughout the building, but—”

“Blow the elevators, and the elevators only,” Zen said as he glanced at the floor indicators, whose numbers were now steadily climbing. “Now!”

Frank did not hesitate, pulling a cell phone from his pocket and selecting a speed dial. A second later two loud bangs issued forth from the elevator shafts, followed shortly by yells and distant crashes. The other Truants stared at the elevators for a moment; then something hard slammed against the stairwell door, instantly capturing their attention.

“Get a message to the other Truants inside the building,” Zen said to Frank. “Tell them to barricade the stairs on every floor.”

The banging on the door grew louder, and Truants scrambled to face the door, guns drawn. Some took cover within apartment doorways, others dragged out sofas and desks and other furniture to crouch behind. They looked scared, some of them were shaking, faced as they were with the utter hopelessness of their situation. Then with a swish of black Zen was among them, brandishing his crowbar and a pistol, and their fear was swept away.