Truancy Origins (55 page)

Alex looked away, both from the screen and from Zen's gaze. Looking back up at the film, Zen kept silent as he finished the last of his popcorn. He knew that Alex would accept. After all, it hadn't been so long ago that Zen himself had tasted the desperation of being a student—the constricting knowledge that no matter what he did, he would never be an equal in school, in the City, or in life, unless he became the person the Educators wanted him to be.

The only way out was utter obedience or outright rebellion. In Zen's mind, the choice was obvious for anyone with spirit.

“I'll do it. I'm coming back with the rest of you.”

Zen nodded to himself. Evidently, Alex did have spirit.

“Then I believe that we've covered everything of importance, Alex. Sit back and enjoy the rest of the film.”

A great tension seemed to drain out of the air between the two Truants, and Alex slumped in his seat as he stared blankly up at the screen. Zen, for his part, casually glanced over his shoulder, eyes scanning the rest of the audience. Everyone seemed fixated upon the movie, and no one seemed to have come in after the movie had started. There was certainly no one within earshot, at any rate.

Far from setting his mind at ease, this observation only troubled Zen. The rest of the film passed by quickly, and as the credits began to roll Alex quickly stood up, politely waiting for his leader so that they could leave together. However, Zen waved him off as he stood up himself.

“We have different destinations, Alex,” Zen muttered. “Go on without me. There's something I have to make sure of.”

Occupied with his own thoughts, Alex nodded and complied without question, leaving Zen to stand alone near the theater's exit.

When he had arrived early at the cinema, Zen had waited in a corner of the theater, positioned so that he could see every person who entered. Umasi would come, Zen was sure of that. Only long after the movie had started, with still no sign of his brother, did Zen finally sit down and join Alex in the front row. Now, as the entire audience filed out of the theater, Zen felt his unease increasing. Umasi was not among the crowd leaving the theater, nor was he among the few people that had stayed behind in their seats to watch the credits.

There was no way that Umasi could have seen him, Zen decided. And yet he was sure, somehow, that Umasi
had
been watching. The thought that he had been outmaneuvered already was deeply unsettling to him, but Zen never mistrusted his instincts. After a moment's hesitation, Zen drew a piece of paper from his pocket and taped it to the wall, where he was confident that Umasi would be able to find it.

His job completed, Zen buttoned his jacket around his neck and swept out of the theater as the windbreaker billowed behind him.

 

T
he projector flickered once and then died as the lights came on in the theater below. A teenaged theater employee got up and stretched briefly before changing the reels, just like he did every Sunday at midnight. As he worked, the boy glanced over at the unusual guest in the projection room, who had spent the entire movie staring down at the audience rather than at the screen. The guest was an odd kid—everything from his clothes to his mannerisms seemed off somehow—but he paid well, unlike the theater.

“If you don't mind me saying, you didn't seem very interested in the movie,” the employee observed.

“I wasn't.”

“Then why all this?”

“I was hoping to see someone here.”

“Well, did he show up?”

“Oh yes, and I think he knows that I did too.” Umasi stood up and reached into his pocket, his tone suddenly businesslike. “Our deal was half to let me into the projector room, and half when the movie was over. You kept your end of the bargain; here's the rest of mine.”

The employee gratefully accepted the other half of the bribe and quickly counted it to make sure it was all there. Satisfied, he looked back up at Umasi, who was waiting with his arms crossed.

“Is everything in order?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Good. Then remember, if anyone asks, I was never here.”

“No problem, man.”

With a nod, Umasi slipped out of the projector room and into the hallway outside. He'd been generous with the bribe; the boy now had enough to make his next summer vacation a memorable one, and neither knew nor cared what Umasi's motivations were. That was just the way Umasi wanted it.

As Umasi made his way down to the actual theater, the last of the audience filed out and made for either the exit or the bathrooms. Zen, Umasi knew, would be long gone by now. Neither of them intended to have their final showdown here, not in the middle of a crowded cinema. Yet Zen had left something for him, and Umasi knew what it would be before he even spotted it, taped to the wall of the theater. Without his glasses the small script appeared blurred, and Umasi tore it down from the wall in order to read it properly.

The message was concise, yet said all that needed to be said.

Brother,

The District 1 School. Tomorrow at 4:00 pm.

See you there,
Zen

Umasi contemplated the note for a moment, then shoved it into his pocket and exited the theater with the rest of the crowd.

 

I
t took Zen a couple of hours to return to the flower shop unnoticed. By the time he arrived, the dark streets were already filled with Truants, gathered together for one mission from every abandoned district in the City. Their complete numbers could not be discerned in the darkness, though Zen knew that there were precisely two hundred of them, divided up into divisions of twenty and then into groups of five. Each group had a captain, and every Truant was equipped with weapons and radios. They knew the plan, and now only awaited their orders.

It was the first time that the Truancy had ever undertaken an operation like this, and seeing the magnitude of it took Zen's breath away.

Noni was waiting for him as he entered the flower shop. She, like him, had garbed herself all in black, her hair drawn back into a simple ponytail. The scarf remained firmly wrapped around her lower face, though her icy eyes blazed with determination. Zen could see knives tucked away in her belt, and a gun holstered at her side.

“Are you ready, Noni?” Zen asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then join the others outside. You're with group one. You'll be coming with me.”

Zen could see a spark of delight flash in her eyes, and a moment later she was gone out the door. Zen strode over to the corner where the old crowbar rested, and he flipped it up into the air with his foot and caught it as it came down. Just then the door opened again, and Zen spoke without turning around.

“Is there a problem, Gabriel?”

“None on this end, Zyid. Is everything all right with Alex?”

“There were no complications. We move as planned. Are the preparations complete?”

“Just about,” Gabriel replied. “The Truants await only your word.”

“Then they shall have it.”

Gabriel respectfully held the door open as Zen strode back outside into the darkness, where a soft but vast murmur had begun. The Truants were getting restless, and like a thousand leaves rustling together their whispers were each insignificant alone, but unable to be ignored when put together.

Zen smiled. Then he spoke, and hundreds fell silent. No school principal had ever commanded such genuine attention in the City. Even the Mayor himself could not claim to ever have had such a willing audience. Zen did not need to yell or bluster to be heard. His voice rang out through the silence, soft but strong, slick but genuine, powerful in its conviction, unwavering, uncompromising. It was the voice of one who would never allow himself to be an inferior again, and as the Truancy listened, it made that voice its own.

“Truants, think back to a few months ago, when every one of us here was
nothing,
” Zen said. “We were capable only of what the Educators told us we were. ‘Freedom is dangerous,' they said. ‘This is for your own good.' Well, they were right about freedom—it is a dangerous thing indeed, for would-be oppressors above all. Their rule over us was not for our own good, but for their benefit. Not for our security, but for their convenience.

“In school nothing was ever expected of us but immaturity and grudging obedience. For the longest time I myself believed that students as a whole were capable of little else. But since I started the Truancy and fought by your sides, I came to realize that though some of us may have been expelled, none of us ever failed school. No, school failed
us.
It failed to treat us with respect, and so encouraged us to act as though we deserved none.

“We are capable of so much more than anyone ever suspected, and today we will prove it,” Zen continued. “We will strike at the heart of the
Mayor's City, and all of its Enforcers may be waiting for us. This does not frighten me. I anticipate it. I want all of our enemies to see what I have; I want everyone to know the power of the Truancy. I want there to be no doubt left in their minds about who we are and what we can do. Rothenberg, with all his brutality, could not stop us, and the Mayor must know that he will fare no better.”

With that, Zen raised his crowbar and spun around, leading the way into the fading night. Behind him the Truancy, two hundred strong, surged forward as one united shadow in the dark. There was no cheering. There was no celebration. Here was an army at march, single-minded in its purpose, like a black wave come to sweep the Educators out of power.

“Mark the calendar, Mayor,” Zen said as he walked, “today is the beginning of the end of school.”

 

U
masi hung up the receiver, marveling that the pay phone still worked in District 19. Stepping out of the booth, he saw that the sun was beginning to rise as a yellow fleck upon the horizon. He watched his breath rise in swirls—there was just enough light for him to see it crystallize in the air—and crumpled up the paper that Zen had left for him, tossing it to the chilly winds. The message had been passed on, as Umasi knew Zen had intended all along. Umasi idly wondered if the Mayor would act on the warning, but knew that was no longer his concern. Either the Educators would save their school or they wouldn't.

Umasi began walking back to his lemonade stand. He wasn't entirely sure why he felt like playing into Zen's hands, but somehow it felt proper. Their family would have one last reunion before the end. Umasi turned a corner, and the lemonade stand came into view. In the middle of the street was a large heap, a mound of weaponry and explosives seized from the Truancy. Umasi paused to take in the sight. The pile was a testament to his campaign against the Truancy, but he knew it represented only a fraction of what the Truancy had become, and not even a speck of what it
could
become. Umasi knew what his responsibility was. He would do the duty no one else could. Umasi would destroy Zen, and without his leadership the Truancy, still in its infancy, could only wither like a plant pulled up by its roots.

Umasi knew that he could take his pick from the weapons in the pile, that there was enough firepower there to contend with anything that his brother's army might throw at him. Instead he pulled a simple switch out of his pocket, one that would detonate all the explosives in the pile, and the weapons along with it. Umasi had come a long way from being the weak and foolish boy that the Educators expected. He needed to rely on no strength but his own.

Umasi paused with his thumb over the switch, sparing a moment to acknowledge the three companions he had come to know during his adventures in the City. Each of them had helped shaped him in their own ways. Red's sacrifice had ignited the fight in his spirit. The nameless girl's discipline had helped him discover his own. Even Edward had taught him a valuable lesson; Umasi now knew to present the world with a cold and efficient face. Umasi did not know what lessons Zen had learned during their time apart, but for the first time in his life he felt that he was a match for his brother.

“Thanks, all three of you,” Umasi said, tilting his head up to the lightening sky. “You've given me the strength to face him.”

With that, Umasi thumbed the switch, and casually spun around as the pile was consumed by a fiery explosion. Silhouetted against the flames, Umasi strode forward into the sunrise, now blazing a bright orange. It was still early, but he wanted to get a head start on the day. It wouldn't do to fall behind.

After all, he had an appointment to keep.

 

H
ow could it have come to this?

The Mayor lifted the lighter with a trembling hand as he lit the cigarette in this mouth. It was a new habit for the Mayor, but lately nothing else seemed able to distract him. Blowing the flame out, the Mayor clicked the lighter shut and relished the sharp click, audible even over the air conditioner. That damn machine got louder every day. It was falling apart, just like the rest of the City.

The Mayor took a ragged breath and let the smoke fill his lungs. Rothenberg had failed, but the Mayor now knew that he himself was to blame for trusting the man in the first place. The Enforcer had been found unconscious on the border of District 19, shot in both legs. When he had come to in the hospital, all he would babble about was some blond kid. The doctors said that Rothenberg would be able to walk again with surgery, but the Mayor had ordered them not to perform it. Rothenberg would remain a cripple, and the Mayor had half a mind to throw him in jail to boot.

There'd been no sign of his sons. Nothing at all. In the past few days the doubt had nearly killed him, but now at least he knew that they still lived. Several hours ago his answering machine had recorded a call telling him so.

The Mayor blew smoke from his lungs, then turned to eye the phone on his desk. For a moment he wondered if the message that it had received might not have been some sort of desperate hallucination of his; already he had forgotten most of its contents. The Mayor flicked the lighter open in agitation. There was only one way to find out.