Truancy Origins (7 page)

“What . . . what are you going to do?” Umasi asked.

“I'm going to get to the bottom of this,” Zen replied in a cold, hard voice.

“Zen . . .”

At that, Zen spun around, and Umasi took a step back. Umasi had thought he knew his brother, but the face before him was a stranger's. It wasn't angry, it wasn't sad—in fact it displayed no emotion at all. It was unpredictable, unreadable, and that scared Umasi. But what absolutely terrified him was the look in Zen's dark eyes, a look that he had never seen before, one that screamed of danger, louder every second.

And then Zen broke eye contact and stormed off, leaving Umasi to stand all alone, too stunned to notice the tears running down his cheeks.

 

E
veryone's here, yeah?”

“I think so.”

“Zack, Raphael, James, Scar, Niles, Walker, Red?”

“They're here, Chris, and so are all the others.”

“Wait a sec, what about Gil?”

“Gil? Anyone seen that kid?”

“Last I saw him was two days ago.”

“Yeah, I ain't seen 'im in a while either.”

Chris seemed to ponder that for a moment, then shrugged.

“He knew where we were supposed to meet. He ain't here, which means he's either run off or dead,” Chris said. “Either way, he ain't none of our business anymore.”

There was a murmur of assent, and Red made a mental note not to be late to any of these little gatherings. Tonight the gang had taken refuge in an abandoned underground parking garage in District 8. Such areas were favored gathering places for vagrants, as they provided shelter from the elements, open space to build small fires inside garbage cans for heat, as well as a good hiding place from the Enforcers. In here the only dangers were usually each other.

Chris and his gang might have working together to survive, but fights even within the group weren't uncommon. A misunderstanding over a scrap of food, an attempted theft gone wrong, even verbal arguments that got out of hand—all of these could result in fights, and these fights often turned fatal. Red had been lucky so far, as he usually got along well with the other vagrants; he wasn't obnoxious, had little that was worth stealing, and—being the newest in the group—was something of a novelty.

“All right, James and Walker watch the exits. That other group of pansies has been getting catty lately.”

“Chris, do you think that Gil might've run into them?”

“Does it matter? Just watch that exit. If they got the guts to show up, we'll give 'em a piece of our minds. Who's leading them these days anyway?”

“Last I heard it was a kid named Glick.”

“Bah, they go through a new leader every week, those guys.”

Slowly but surely the vagrants began to make themselves comfortable in their temporary shelter. Bonfires were lit, scrounged food was—very carefully—traded, and guarded conversations broke out. Some vagrants had blankets, others even had soft drinks. Red, who had neither, rested near a particularly large fire, trying not to think about the pain in his abdomen as the other vagrants around him swapped tales about the legendary Vagrant Ghost.

“I swear it, I saw her!” the vagrant named Niles insisted as the others looked at him skeptically. “It was maybe two months ago, I was just minding my own business, and bam! She appears out of thin air! Completely pale, with glowing red eyes and this living chain that coiled around like a snake!”

“Did you eat anything funny that day?” Red asked.

“No! I swear, it was real as you are!” Niles insisted. “Her chain struck me between the eyes and knocked me out!”

“It knocked you out?” A brown-skinned vagrant snorted. “Are you sure she didn't float around in the air making wailing noises before vanishing through a wall?”

“You're not funny, Raphael!” Niles snapped. “A hundred other vagrants have seen her too. I tell you, the abandoned districts are haunted!”

“Fairy tales,” Raphael said dismissively. “Some half-starved vagrant sees a stray cat and thinks it's a monster. Happens all the time.”

Niles and Raphael continued arguing for a few minutes, though the debate never heated up to the point of violence. Meanwhile, feeling an uncomfortable pang in his stomach, Red slowly forced himself to his feet and reached for a brown paper bag containing half a slice of pizza that he had been saving. As he picked up the bag, however, he knew that something was wrong. He tore it asunder, and a strangled growl escaped his throat. The bag was empty. Someone had stolen his food.

Suddenly, the other vagrants around the fire quieted, staring at him as they realized what must have happened. Like a contagious disease, the silence slowly spread throughout the entire garage as the other vagrants turned to see what was going on. Red glared around at all of them, and quickly spotted a boy whose shirt had a visible drop of sauce on it. Looking
closer, Red recognized a large vagrant who went by the name Zack. Zack hastened to wipe his mouth with his sleeve, but it was too late—Red had seen the grease shining on his face.

Aside from the crackle of flames, the parking garage was now completely silent. Red and Zack stared each other down, unblinking. Everyone knew what was coming; they just didn't know who would act first.

And then Red lunged, snarling like a mad dog. Zack leaped forward to meet him, but Red's greater momentum slammed Zack back onto the ground as Red pounded at his chest. Zack tried to shove Red off, but Red slammed his forehead down onto Zack's face. For a moment Red saw stars, but when they cleared he found that blood was pouring from Zack's nose. Letting out a howl of rage, Zack flailed out with thick arms, catching Red in the face and chest. In retaliation, Red seized one of Zack's arms and sank his teeth into it as hard as he could, eliciting a scream of pain from his victim.

This was not a clean, honorable fight. This was a battle to the death, and Red intended to use every weapon he had. Moments later Red rose, spitting blood. Zack leapt to his feet, clutching his injured arm, a wild look in his eyes. With arms now outstretched, Zack barreled towards Red, who ducked and slammed his knee into Zack's groin. Zack yelled in pain again, and managed to lash out once, catching Red in the abdomen before falling to the ground himself, clutching his privates.

Searing, unimaginable pain shot through Red's body. The agony he had been feeling in his gut for the past few weeks was nothing,
nothing
compared with what it felt like to be punched in that sore spot. Cursing his appendix loudly, Red struggled to his feet despite the pain, kicking Zack in the groin as he tried to rise as well. As Zack lay groaning on the ground, Red seized the nearest burning barrel, and with strength he didn't know he still had, overturned its fiery contents on top of Zack. Zack's struggles suddenly doubled as he thrashed about wildly, trying to put out the flames.

And so Zack never realized that Red had jumped, not until Red's feet came slamming down onto his neck with tremendous force. As if from far away, Red heard a strange gurgling sound beneath him . . . and then silence. Stepping away quickly lest he catch fire as well, Red clutched his aching abdomen, which was still sending sharp pain through his body. As he blinked tears from his eyes, Red looked around at the other vagrants. Most of them stared at him for a moment before hastily looking away . . . though Red couldn't help but notice that Chris continued to stare at him, eyes glittering in a way that sent chills down his spine.

 

U
masi shifted restlessly in his bed, buried under layers of warm blankets. The mattress was comfortable and the pillows were soft, not to mention
that it had been a long day. Yet try as he might, Umasi couldn't get himself to sleep. Agitated, he moved again, placing his pillow under his chin.

He could hear the faint sounds of Zen's steady breathing, and knew that his brother must already be asleep. Umasi, however, couldn't stop thinking . . . no, couldn't stop
worrying
about what had happened that day. Could their father, their own father, really be intentionally trying to make them suffer? Not just them, but every student in the entire City? It seemed absurd—what would be the point? And yet Umasi couldn't think of any other way to explain what he and Zen had overheard.

Umasi turned over on his side, wrapping his blanket around himself as he did so. He wasn't as worried about what they had heard as he was about Zen's reaction. In that brief, frightening moment, Umasi had seen something dangerous stirring in Zen's eyes. It had swiftly faded, but Zen hadn't been the same all day. Distant. Isolated. Cold. Umasi hadn't attempted to talk with him—he still remembered the fear. That unfamiliar, irrational fear he had felt in that moment of revelation.

He had been afraid that Zen might strike him.

Zen had sworn to get to the bottom of it. What could that mean? What was he planning? Umasi couldn't help but shiver, despite all the blankets. For some reason he dreaded the idea of facing the uncertainty of the next day. He didn't want to fall asleep, as it meant that he'd have to awaken the next morning. What would Zen do? What would he find? Umasi knew it might be serious, and yet he didn't know what to do about it. He could sense that disaster was coming, and yet couldn't do anything to prevent it, or even warn others about it. If only he hadn't come up with the stupid idea of eavesdropping in the first place.

Umasi shivered again. All of a sudden, he felt chilly all over. His arms couldn't get enough heat, no matter how tightly he pressed them against his chest. Everything, his thoughts included, now seemed distant and vague. He faintly heard himself groaning, as if it were a faraway echo. He felt almost separate from his body and all its sensations . . . except the cold. That persistent, clinging iciness.

And then Umasi felt a pang of terror so overwhelming that he bolted upright, his heart racing. The room was completely unlit at night, and his eyes couldn't see anything, even accustomed to the gloom. And yet Umasi was certain that something terrible was lurking about—or else why would he be so frightened? And then memories began to flash before Umasi's eyes. Failing grades. Bullies chasing him. His father, yelling. A cockroach, still moving after being crushed. His glasses, shattering as they fell to the floor. Falling from a balcony in the mansion, seeing the floor rushing up to meet him . . .

Eyes. Enormous, cold, hateful eyes set into a pale face, staring down at him as he wailed inside the crib. Then the glare faded away, and then that's when Umasi saw it.

For one fleeting moment, he caught a glimpse of a head concealed by a dark hood. Then suddenly, Umasi felt as though he had been set on fire. And then he knew no more.

 

H
ow is he, Father?”

“He seems to be a bit delirious, but it's nothing too serious. Just a regular fever.”

“The weather
has
been getting cold lately.”

“Well, it's not even winter yet . . . though your brother has always been rather fragile compared to you. Don't tell him I said that, by the way.”

“Wouldn't dream of it. So, what should we do for him?”

“He just needs to stay in bed, drink lots of juice, take his medicine, and rest. I'd watch over him myself . . . but unfortunately I've got some important work to do today that I can't put off. I'll have the staff look after him. You should too, but be careful not to catch what he's got.”

“Well that goes without saying.”

“Good boy. I'll try to be back early today—call me if there are any problems. You have my number.”

“Of course.”

Umasi heard a door shut, as if the sound had echoed over to him from a great distance away. The voices had ceased talking—what had they been saying again? He couldn't concentrate. Everything seemed disorganized and unclear, as if his normally neatly arranged thoughts had been dunked into a pool where they could float about erratically, bumping off one another. It took him a while to realize that he felt hot. Fever. The voices had said something about fever. That must be it.

He felt something cool and wet being applied to his forehead, soothing the fires in his head. Attempting to make some sense of what was going on, Umasi forced his eyes open to find that everything was a confusing blur. Cool trickles dripped down his face, and he realized that someone had put a wet towel on his forehead. Blinking to rid himself of a drop of water that had landed on his eyelid, he opened his eyes again to see a blurry shadow standing over him. The shadow reached down towards him and he felt something being slipped onto his face. The next thing he knew, Umasi saw Zen's face looking down at him emotionlessly. Glasses, Umasi realized. Zen had put his glasses on him so he could see.

“No . . . no school?” Umasi mumbled.

“You're still out of it, I see,” Zen commented. “No, no school. Today's a Saturday, remember?”

“Oh,” Umasi groaned, lucid enough to realize that he was both sick
and
not missing any school.

“Do you recognize who I am?”

“Yeah,” Umasi croaked.

“Well, then, you're not completely delirious,” Zen observed. “Nonetheless, you're to stay in bed for the rest of the day. Leave everything to me.”

“Leave . . . what?”

“
The truth,
” Zen whispered, leaning forward as his voice took on a dangerous tone. “I'm going to investigate Father's ‘work.' I'm going to find out what he's really been up to for all these years.”

Umasi wasn't of a mind to fully grasp the import of Zen's words, but something about them triggered alarms in his head.

“No . . . no, you mustn't . . .” Umasi protested.

“You don't know what you're saying.” Zen laughed. “The maids will be up soon with some drinks and medicine, and then you'll get some rest. It'll do you some good. You shouldn't even be conscious, really—take a nap. By the time you're sober, everything will be taken care of.”