Truancy Origins Page 5

  “You should really try to make more . . . friends,” Zen suggested. “They can be useful on occasion.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Umasi murmured.

  With that, Zen shoved the doors open, and despite everything Umasi cringed, half-expecting the alarm to ring. After several seconds passed and nothing happened, Umasi opened his eyes to see Zen holding one of the doors open with an “I told you so” look. Embarrassed, Umasi straightened up and cleared his throat as he looked out at the inviting sunlight.

  “Let’s go,” Umasi said.

  “After you,” Zen replied, spreading his arms gallantly.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Umasi broke into an excited run and burst outside, blinking to adjust his eyes to the sunlight. He discovered that he was standing in a small, overlooked corner of the courtyard. Hearing the door shut behind him, Umasi spun around to see Zen walking towards him, rubbing his hands as he took a deep breath of the crisp, cool open air.

  “They ought to hold classes outdoors,” Zen said wistfully. “I can’t remember the last time I breathed fresh air in a classroom.”

  “Yeah . . . so, should we just go straight home?” Umasi asked.

  “I don’t see why not. It’s not like there’s much else to do right now,” Zen observed.

  “Well, we could . . . uh . . .” Umasi glanced around, looking for ideas. His gaze came to rest upon a large billboard advertising an upcoming movie. “ . . . see a movie, like that one there! I’ve been wanting to see that!”

  “Umasi”—Zen looked up at the billboard impatiently—“that movie comes out months from now.”

  “Oh, right,” Umasi said, spotting the date on the ad. “Sorry.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” Zen said. “Listen, Umasi, when the film comes out we’ll see it together. Opening day, first showing. In the big District 1 Theater.”

  “Really?” Umasi blinked. Zen didn’t make promises like that very often.

  “Really.” Zen nodded. “But seeing as it’s not out now, I think that we’d best be on our way.”

  “Of course,” Umasi agreed. “Lead the way!”

  Umasi was soon struggling to keep up as his brother led the way out of the courtyard and onto the streets. As they walked beneath the shadows of the towering buildings that lined each street, Umasi had to admit that Zen’s idea had been a good one. Umasi for once got a chance to look at every building and appreciate its uniqueness, from its colors to its bricks to its windows and its height. Umasi couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been too rushed to spare the buildings anything more than a passing glance.

  “Look at that.” Zen pointed as they crossed a street.

  Umasi followed Zen’s finger and looked up to see the greatest building of them all—Penance Tower, a massive skyscraper that dwarfed every other building in the City. Catching the morning sun, its distant windows glittered, a hundred times more radiant than flashbulbs. The tower lay at the center of District 1, a government building from which everything from the City’s stop signs to its bridges was managed remotely. Umasi had seen it before, of course—it was so tall as to be impossible to miss. But he had never seen it in such an impressive light, and stood staring at its glittering form for several dumbstruck seconds before Zen yanked him forward and out of the way of oncoming traffic.

  The rest of the trek passed quickly for Umasi, for he saw nothing that could equal the impressive sight of Penance Tower. As they walked, Umasi was uncomfortably aware that some adults turned their heads to look suspiciously at the twin students, but none of them were concerned enough to interrupt their own business to mind someone else’s. Before long, Umasi and Zen arrived at the sizeable Mayoral Mansion. The guard at the gate raised an eyebrow when he saw them, but said nothing, as he wasn’t being paid to ask the Mayor’s sons any questions.

  “Today is a Friday. I think Dad is probably working at home,” Umasi realized as they walked across the fancy marble floor of the lobby.

  “Even if he is, he’ll just shut himself up in the conference room for hours as usual,” Zen said. “He never comes out until after five at the earliest.”

  They pushed open the polished wooden doors into the foyer of the mansion, and then Umasi froze.

  “What’s wrong?” Zen asked, turning back to look at Umasi.

  “Have you ever been . . . curious about what Father does at work?” Umasi said. Maybe it was the liberating thrill of cutting class, but he found himself feeling unusually brazen.

  “He holds meetings and runs the government,” Zen said, looking away.

  “No, that is his work,” Umasi said. “I’m talking about what he does at work. He never talks to us about it. He gets nervous and changes the subject whenever we ask. If I’ve noticed it, then you’ve definitely noticed it too.”

  Zen spun around to glare at Umasi through narrowed eyes.

  “What exactly are you suggesting?” Zen demanded softly.

  I’ve reviewed the proposal.”

  “What are your thoughts, sir?”

  “Interesting, though potentially expensive. We may have to hire additional security guards to make it effective enough to produce results.”

  “Well, we do have the budget for it, sir.”

  “Indeed, which is why I’m giving it the green light. I want the program up to speed within a week, with initial progress reports the week after.”

  “Consider it . . . done . . . sir, did you just hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “I could’ve sworn I just heard something outside the door just now. . . .”

  “It’s probably that blasted maid again or something. Now pay attention—you’re too easily distracted.”

  “I’m sorry sir.”

  “Accepted. Now, I’ve been drafting a little proposal of my own in my spare time.”

  “I’m all ears, of course.”

  “It’s very simple—immediate school banning of all items not pertaining to a student’s education. It would of course include any nasty recreational devices that students have been using to distract themselves.”

  “That’s . . . quite a radical proposal, sir.”

  “And I think that’s exactly what we need right now. Small, subtle, incremental changes are fine, but our most effective experiments in controlling students have always been our boldest.”

  “What justification are we going to give for this?”

  “The usual one. We’ll label the items a threat to student safety and be done with it.”

  “A threat to safety? Do you think they’ll buy that?”

  “No one complained when we classified scissors and compasses as weapons.”

  “Well actually . . .”

  “No one complained officially.”

  “So how are we to enforce this?”

  “With metal detectors and mandatory searches.”

  “Won’t that be . . . expensive?”

  “Like you said, we do have the budget for it.”

  Umasi sat there in stunned silence, one ear pressed tightly against the door to the conference room. Next to him, Zen quietly stood up to leave, an unreadable expression on his face. Not wanting to hear any more, Umasi held his glasses in place so that they wouldn’t fall off as he rose hastily and trotted after his brother. Zen paid him no attention, walking away wordlessly, his fists tightly clenched. His own head swimming, Umasi struggled to find something, anything to say that might make sense of what they’d just heard.

  “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 b
efore, 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.

  Everyone’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.

  Umasi 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.

  4

  PARENTAL CONTROL