Truancy Read online

  “Three weeks. It’s been exactly twenty-one days. You had a blank check. All of the City’s resources. Everything was at your disposal,” the mayor pointed out coldly.

  “Yes, sir, and I’ve already shown you the results of our raids on Truant safe houses and storage sites,” the Enforcer said, gesturing at a small pile of papers sitting on the Mayor’s desk. “In addition to that memorandum signed by their leader, a wide variety of weapons, ammunition, chemicals, have been seized—”

  “Seized. I like how you use that word. I assume you bravely fought off an army of kids to gather up these—when you say ‘chemicals,’ they were household cleaners again, I presume?” the Mayor asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  The Enforcer took a deep breath. “Sir, the Truants are able to manufacture effective explosives with compounds derived from—”

  “I know. Were the sites you raided defended?”

  “Aside from some booby traps, no, sir. The Truants rarely seem to use the same site two nights in a row, so there weren’t any Truants present. However, capturing these places hurt their effort nonetheless—”

  “They will rearm themselves,” the Mayor said, flicking his lighter open. “They will find new holes to hide in. We’ve been playing this game with them for well over a year now. And while you were poking around uninhabited apartments, Enforcer, the Truancy assassinated two more Educators in the past three weeks.”

  “I know, I did read the report, sir—”

  “Good, you’re literate after all.” The Mayor shut his lighter. “But I believe we’re here to discuss this name you’ve discovered, not your reading habits. So then, to business—while it may be a blow to your ego, Enforcer, let me tell you that this ridiculous name that you labored so hard to produce is worth less than the paper you used to print it on.”

  The Enforcer looked confused, like a dog that had expected a treat but received a kick instead.

  “The name isn’t useless, sir—you can check the school files, the birth records, find out who this kid is, whether he has any living family. That’s all classified Educator data, if I may respectfully remind you.”

  The Mayor snorted. “Brilliant idea. Or it would be, if Zyid were this child’s real name.”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  The Mayor turned to glare at the Enforcer. It was rather like training a searchlight onto a mouse.

  “This ‘Zyid’ is not stupid, and neither am I,” the Mayor said matter-of-factly. “I checked the files already. Nothing. If he attended school in this City, he didn’t do it as ‘Zyid.’”

  “And the birth records?”

  “Again, nothing.”

  There was an unpleasant silence.

  “Our options are running out,” the Mayor said pointedly. “That means your time is running out. There are only so many ways to wage war against the Truancy while keeping it secret.”

  “I … I understand, sir.”

  “They are not ordinary criminals. They won’t be satisfied with getting away with a single crime. They will strike repeatedly, until we give up, are dead, or have wiped them out. And thanks to your inept intelligence gathering, they may be planning an attack right now.”

  “We can’t know that for sure, sir.”

  “And that is a problem. You will have to fix it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I have your word. The next time we meet, I want to know more about this Zyid character. Something substantial, not more speculation. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One more thing.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “We meet tomorrow evening.”

  The Enforcer gulped audibly. “Understood.”

  “Good. You’re dismissed.”

  * * *

  “So, what’s up?” Suzie asked, screwing the cap back on her water bottle.

  Tack and Suzie lay on the soft grass, enjoying its rich, sweet smell, so rare in the City. It was Sunday, the only day of the week when students didn’t have to don their gray uniforms and go to school. Tack had heard that there had once been a time when students had Saturdays off as well, but that had long since become history.

  As they had agreed, Tack and Suzie were spending their day in the Grand Park—District 20’s only notable feature. The Grand Park was, as its name suggested, a massive park that spanned the entire length of the district. With its winding paths, masses of trees, decorative fountains, and fields of grass, it was the closest thing to nature that the City had. There were also a few playgrounds for the very young, though Tack and Suzie were both too old to be allowed entrance.

  “I had a social studies test the other day,” Tack said offhandedly.

  “Oh,” Suzie murmured, chewing on a blade of grass. “How did that go?”

  “Badly,” Tack said frankly, brushing a few stubborn strands of hair out of his eyes.

  “Why’s that?” Suzie asked sympathetically.

  Tack frowned. Suzie continued nibbling away at her grass, patiently waiting for her brother to get more talkative. After a few minutes, Tack sat up and told her about how the test had been rigged against the students.

  “That’s messed up,” Suzie observed.

  “No kidding,” Tack agreed.

  “Ya know, I heard a few girls talking about a math test they took,” Suzie recalled. “I think the same thing happened to them.”

  “Really?” Tack asked, incredulous.

  “Yep,” Suzie confirmed, finishing the last of her water.

  “I thought Mr. Niel was just being his usual self,” Tack muttered. “But why would two different teachers do the exact same thing?”

  “Maybe they were told to,” Suzie suggested.

  “By who, the Educators?” Tack snorted. “Why would they waste time trying to piss us off?”

  “I dunno; it’s not like they need to put much effort into it.” Suzie smirked.

  “Whatever, all I know is that I’m not taking another test without asking exactly how much time we have,” Tack declared.

  “Good call,” Suzie said. She eyed the waning sun, which had begun to cast an orange glow over the green park. “It’s getting late.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Tack agreed, frowning. “I guess we better be going home.”

  “All righty.” Suzie gathered up her things.

  As they made their way back home, Tack felt his spirit somewhat lightened, the fragrance of the park still heavy in his nostrils. He was ready to forget that the disastrous test had ever happened. Time spent with Suzie always cheered him up, though Tack had noticed that Suzie was subtly less cheerful herself. Tack was somewhat disturbed by that realization. School must be wearing down on her too, just as it was on him.

  * * *

  “Is everyone in position?”

  “Not only is everyone in position, but they’ve all been waiting for like an hour.”

  “Have you recounted the explosives?”

  “Yeah, I have, all eight. Hell, I don’t even need to count them. That backpack was so heavy, there’s got to be more than enough in it.”

  “These pipe bombs are not light, nor are they to be taken lightly.”

  “My spine heartily agrees.”

  “Soon the Educators will as well. It’s almost time. You’d better get to your position.”

  “Sure thing, boss. Can I ask a question though?”

  “Make it quick.”

  “Why isn’t that assassin of yours along for the ride? This attack’s supposed to be big and important, right?”

  “Noni has other duties to perform.”

  “Like what?”

  “Suffice it to say that I’ve given a few more Educators failing grades.”

  “Ah, gotcha—the mark of death, eh?”

  “If that’s what you want to call it. Now get to your position; we execute in ten minutes.”

  “All right, I got your back, Zyid.”

  “Duly noted, Ken.”

  The Truant known as Ken ran towards a cement wall and
crouched briefly, peering around the corner at the gatehouse to make sure that it was clear. He was clothed in black garments and a ski mask, as were all the other well-hidden Truants, numbering twelve in total. It was the dead of night—12:52, according to Ken’s digital watch—and the Truants were all but invisible, moving shadows in this empty part of the City. There were no streetlights for blocks. In fact, the only light was the faint glow coming from inside the large building he was crouched near.

  There was, in fact, a guard in the gatehouse in front of the large building. It was a middle-aged, overweight man that seemed more like a rent-a-cop than a true Enforcer. He looked like the epitome of boredom itself, leaning back in his chair lazily, with his feet up on the tiny desk inside the gatehouse. The guard was armed with a pistol, but hardly seemed prepared to use it. In fact, the night was rather hot and the guard had actually left the door open to let some air in.

  Ken frowned. With security this bad, how important could the building be? He wasn’t about to complain about an easy mission, but Zyid had told them so little that he was starting to wonder. He’d gathered that there was something inside that Zyid wanted to steal, but the building itself was odd. It didn’t look like a warehouse, and stuck out as the only inhabited building inside an area of four abandoned districts. Well, mostly abandoned, as the Truancy had recently begun to make some use of them, hiding out and storing supplies.

  Ken snapped back to reality as he saw a flashlight blink once to his left. That was the signal. He checked his watch. It was one in the morning, exactly. He looked around the corner again. The guard was still lying there, looking ready to doze off at any minute. Ken frowned. Zyid wasn’t the type of person to be late with anything, especially his own plan.

  Then the guard tipped his head to one side, facing the open door of the guardhouse. Something shot through the air, and hit its target with a dull thunk. Ken quickly darted toward the gate, where he was joined by ten other black-clad Truants. More than a few of them seemed transfixed upon the fallen guard, who looked as relaxed as he did a moment ago, except for his wide eyes and the knife that was embedded between then. For some of them, Ken knew, it was the first death they’d ever witnessed.

  Zyid walked forward from the shadows, wearing the same nondescript black clothing they all did. He quickly inspected the body, removed the sharp knife, wiped it on his sleeve, and then replaced it in its leather sheath.

  “Nice aim,” someone murmured softly, voicing the general opinion.

  “I enjoyed favorable conditions,” Zyid allowed.

  Though he was impressed at the skill Zyid had demonstrated, Ken couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t slightly disturbed at his indifferent attitude to death and killing. Ken frowned, fully aware of the uncomfortable way his companions were shuffling—they were probably thinking the same thing. He shook his head to clear his doubt. Zyid’s was probably the only attitude that the leader of any army could afford.

  “Paradoxically, it seems like the gatehouse doesn’t actually open the gate,” Zyid mused. “The controls must be inside.”

  Zyid paced along the length of the gates. “Too steep to climb, I believe. No shortcuts for us, we’ll have to follow our original plan.”

  At this, two Truants stepped forward, placing a pipe bomb on either side of the gates, right below the hinges.

  “Weapons at the ready,” Zyid ordered quietly.

  The Truants raised their guns in acknowledgment. Ken walked over to the fallen guard and retrieved the dead man’s pistol.

  “Shrapnel from pipe bombs can be nasty,” Zyid warned. “Everyone except Ken and Steven take cover. You two, light the fuses before joining the rest.”

  As the other Truants took cover, Ken and Steven each stood over one of the pipe bombs, which resembled nothing more than plastic pipes sealed at both ends with firecracker fuses sticking out. Ken drew a lighter from his pants pocket, and watched Steven do the same. Bending down simultaneously, they lit the fuses and ran. Ken dived behind an old newsstand on the block, shutting his eyes and plugging his ears.

  The lit fuses hissed and snapped angrily as the flames quickly traveled down them. As the sparks from the fuse came into contact with the densely packed saltpeter inside the crude bomb, the pressure of the explosion sent pieces of plastic shooting in all directions, and the force of the blast quickly separated the gates from their hinges.

  The Truants sprang up from their hiding places and dashed onto what looked like a small parking lot for the building’s workers. Spotting the glass doors that marked the entrance to the building, Zyid gestured towards it and broke into a brisk run. The other Truants followed, carrying duffel bags.

  As they came up to the thick glass doors, Zyid gave a quick nod to one of the Truants holding a duffel bag. The Truant quickly produced a third pipe bomb and placed it down in front of the double doors. Zyid waved his arm in a wide arc, the signal for them to take cover. As they did so, Zyid produced his own lighter and lit the fuse, darting behind a parked car himself.

  The pipe bomb exploded, shattering the glass doors. No sooner had the shards settled than Zyid had risen to his feet and dashed through their empty and battered frames, holding his shotgun in one hand and the duffel bag in the other. An alarm suddenly sounded, sending a loud shriek into the night. The other Truants picked themselves up and dashed into a large lobby. They paused as Zyid scanned the room. A security desk stood off to the right, with the chair overturned as if its occupant had very hastily left.

  “There will be guards, and they will be armed,” Zyid said. “The Enforcers are also likely on their way. Come, and quickly.”

  Zyid ran over to a floor directory, reading it as quickly as he could. Finding what he wanted, he gestured for the Truants to enter the large elevator, with two walking backwards to cover their rear. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. One of the Truants crumpled. A guard, the one missing from the security desk, had taken cover behind a concrete pillar. One of the Truants dashed to check on his fallen comrade, while the others all determinedly fired at the pillar.

  Zyid grimaced. He hadn’t expected a casualty this early, and this firefight was only slowing them down. Reaching inside his duffel bag, he pulled out what looked like a glass bottle with a rag stuffed in its mouth. The liquid inside the bottle was a mixture of gasoline and motor oil. Lighting the rag on fire with his lighter, Zyid hurled the bottle at the pillar. It quickly burst, and sprayed what looked like liquid fire everywhere. There was a scream of pain, and the guard, all caution forgotten, desperately leaped from behind the pillar and began rolling on the ground.

  Zyid allowed himself a satisfied grin. The motor oil stuck stubbornly onto surfaces, causing the fire to be very persistent. Ignoring the agonizing shrieks from the guard who was fast becoming a human torch, Zyid quickly moved to the downed Truant. As he did, one of them put the guard out of his misery with a single shot.

  The Truants watched with bated breath as Zyid bent down and placed two fingers onto the side of the fallen Truant’s neck. A moment later, Zyid removed the boy’s ski mask. His own face, only half-covered by a neck-warmer, betrayed no emotion.

  “It’s Ken,” he said, rising to his feet. “He’s dead. We have to hurry, or more of us will join him.”

  “We’re just going to leave him lying there?” one of the other Truants protested angrily.

  Zyid turned to stare reprovingly at the speaker. “Our duties are to the living,” he snapped. “Leave the dead.”

  The Truants, some of them reluctantly, began moving towards the elevator. There would be time for mourning later. The Truants quickly filed into the elevator, adrenaline pulsing through their veins. Zyid entered last, and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

  When the door opened, the Truants found themselves face-to-face with two surprised guards who had been waiting for the elevator themselves. Zyid didn’t even need to aim as he brought his shotgun up and fired at point-blank range. The two guards crumpled. Zyid leaped atop a nearby stool and touched a fire
sprinkler with his lighter—causing a new set of alarms to go off as all the sprinklers in the building sprayed water everywhere. Puzzled, but not willing to question their leader, the now-wet Truants approached a new set of opaque double doors. One of the Truants shot the lock off with his pistol, and Zyid kicked the doors open.

  The room was large, square, and stacked to the ceiling with brown cardboard boxes. Zyid quickly began opening boxes and peering inside while the other Truants stood guard. As Zyid pulled out ceramic dishes and cutlery from the boxes, the other Truants became certain that there had been some sort of mistake. Zyid, however, remained emotionless as ever as he continued to open boxes.

  Suddenly Zyid let out of a grunt of triumph. A few Truants gathered around to look at what he’d found.

  “Ceramic kitchen knives?” One of them read the package in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

  “I’m not,” Zyid said evenly. “Pack as many as you can in the duffel bags—we destroy the rest with the remaining bombs.”

  “Won’t they break if we jostle them?” Another Truant eyed the knives dubiously.

  “No. The way they’re made, they’re tougher than steel,” Zyid said, stuffing them into his own duffel bag. “And more important, they’re invisible to metal detectors.”

  The importance of the kitchen utensils abruptly became clear to the Truants, and they quickly joined their leader. With all eleven of them working, they filled the duffel bags to bursting very quickly, leaving more than a few stacks of boxes. As they prepared to leave, Zyid’s eye fell upon three longer but otherwise identical packages lying near the entrance. Moving over to them, he read the label on one.

  “It says they’re experimental,” Zyid mused. “They must be for an aborted project if they’re here.” His curiosity piqued, Zyid opened the first package, and his eyes widened with delight at what he saw inside.

  “Oh, excellent,” he said softly.

  “What is it?” one of the other Truants asked.

  “Never mind,” Zyid said briskly, shoving the three packages into his own duffel bag. “You’ll find out when we get back. Right now, we destroy whatever’s left.”

  Having already emptied the last two pipe bombs onto the floor to make room for knives, the Truants hastily left the room as Zyid lit the bombs.