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smokeSCREEN: bookONE

By: smokeSCREEN: bookONE



I sheath the blade into the walking stick and turn, not looking behind. 

If I'm to be killed, they'll have to shoot me in the back. 

I hear her walking away. 

Now running. 

And now, the murmers of a distant conversation. Seventy yards or so. 

I keep walking. 

Now I hear the blond's voice again; 

"Hold!"

I grit my teeth and stop, waiting for the bullet to tear through me. Now I hear an angry conversation in the distance. But she shouts again;

"Tell me your name!" she calls. I can see one of the others trying to keep her quiet, which is smart. Snipers all through these woods. 

Why the fuck does she want my name? 

Why the fuck would I tell her that? 

"Cypress." I know the sound comes from me, but I never decided to yell it out. Not consciously. 

The tall woman with the rifle grabs the blond's shoulder now and turns her away. 

I turn and continue back, making my way towards the shadows of the buildings, where their sniper will be less likely to pick me off. 

"My name's Cat!" I hear a scream echoe off the empty buildings and I stop. 

I don't know why I stop, but I do. 

And for a moment, I feel something pulling at me on the inside. Something strange. 

I am elated, but crushed. 

Her name is Cat. 

* * * 

* * * 

i'm happy i'm feeling glad / i've got sunshine in a bag / i'm useless but not for long / the future is coming on

* * * 

* * * 

Two weeks later, I'm still on the school roof, still scanning the horizon for any sniff of the women's activities. It's been unusually quiet, lately. Unusually boring. The other Thirds have been pressuring Jessie to let me go scavanging again – the choiciest food I brought back last time has started to grow thin. 

I hate to admit it, but when I look out over the city, I'm looking for her. 

I'm looking for Cat. 

I don't know what I might do if I spotted her. I might call out for a sniper by reflex. 

I turn and bring up my telescope to the west, spying out the charred remains of the Westwood Public Library a quarter-mile away. Burned to the foundation. 

I bring down the telescope and frown. 

If only Jessie hadn't caught me. 

* * * 

I'm in the cafeteria, a can of half-finished dog food in front of me. This is my ration for the day, and though dog food was ambrosia when we first broke out of the bomb shelter, I've found myself with a severe distaste for it lately. 

I'll wait for a moment alone, then sneak a can of the peach slices I kept from my jaunt to the David Estates. 

"Cypress," someone says. I look up in time to see Dustin, a hulk of a Third, sitting down across from me. "You going eat this?" he asks. 

Dustin gets to eat venison every night, but he enjoys throwing his weight around as one of Jessie's liutenants. I push the can towards him. 

"Be my guest," I say. He picks up the can and hands it to Colin, the First who follows Dustin around everywhere. Colin's a little guy with nervous eyes and sticky fingers – he finishes the can before I can offer my fork. "What can I help you with?"

"You read too much," he says. 

"So I'm told." 

"Have you heard about what's going on?" he asks. 

"I'm on the roof – I don't hear shit." 

"What would you do if I could get you off the roof?" 

I pause. He wants something, but if could get me out of Westwood…

"I'd be grateful," I say. Colin smiles. 

"That's what I thought." 

* * * 

Later I'm pulled off the roof by a messenger who takes me to Jessie's room. A bunch of the Thirds are sitting around eating their venison, and they're running the lights – they don't run the lights inside often. 

As I squint and refocus my eyes to the brightness, I see Jessie pointing to a point on a map of the city. Everyone else is watching me. 

"He's here," Colin says. Jessie seems to pause before turning. 

When he finally does, he's got a leather backpack in his hands, which he tosses across the room. It skids to a stop just shy of my feet. 

"What's this?" I ask. 

"Your gear," he says. "You're going east." I look to Colin, who's decidedly looking away.

"How far east?" 

"The train yards." A hush falls on the room. 

"This is what you got me off the roof for?" I look at Colin again. "A fuckin' suicide run?" 

Jessie shrugs and turns away, waving his hand.

"Back to the roof, then." 

I could kill. I could draw blood. I turn on my heels and start to leave, but Richard stops me. 

Richard's a good guy for a Third – in my opinion, he should take Jessie's place. 

"They're up to something, Cypress," he says. "And we need to know what." 

"What if he follows a patrol or something? Maybe he'd hear something about the yards." 

"Why the fuck would they tell a patrol about something this big?" 

"'Something this big'? We don't even know what it is yet – they might just be scavenging those yards." 

"You 'tard! No one just scavenges blindly! They're after something big!" 

"Fuck off – maybe you'd know what they were after if you spent less time with Matthew." 

I light a cigarette. They'll be fighting for a while. 

"Everyone shut up!" Jessie roars. Most don't. Some do. "Cypress?" 

I take a drag. 

"If they are looking for something specific, they'll have heavy patrols," I say. "Chances are I'll be killed – enjoy your deer." 

* * * 

Some things just happen and some things are fate. 

Jessie tells us we live in a new world now. That philosophy and inflection have no place in it.

Plato once said "the unexamined life is not worth living." He's a philosopher in a country called Greece. I found Greece on a map once – it's a long way away. 

I pull up my telescope and scan the hot pavement of Portage Avenue. It's a long hike east, past the park, until I'll have to turn north to get to the train yards. 

I consider loading my discman, but I'd rather have my ears free to hear a potential ambush. 

I'm alright with the idea of dying today. 

Most days I wake up like that. 

But I'd like to see her again before I do.

I have daydreams about dying. Cat reaches out and touches her finger to mine. Touches me. And I drop dead. 

Perhaps more a fantasy than a daydream. 

* * * 

In the year two thousand and three, all of us – a hundred or so of us – went to first, second and third grade at the local elementary school. Tuxedo Park elementary, to be specific – we were all upper-middle class. Winnipeg is a test market for different educational practices, and our parents had all signed a paper saying we were allowed to take early years sex ed. 

That's when they told us what could happen. 

That if we didn't wear condoms, we'd die. That woman have disease. Things like siphillus and herpes and the worst of all – aids. They told us all of this, and it was as if the world had changed. 

The girls – these little girls that I had played with and touched on the cheek and pushed on swings were crawling with ways to kill me. 

That same week, they took us on the field trip to the marsh. 

We were going to see the ducks. 

That same day, the busses pulled off the road and we were shoved into a bunker. No adults stayed behind – they just looked really upset.

For weeks, we sat huddled at opposite ends of the bunker – the girls and boys. If one of us stood and approached them, they'd scream. 

If they approached us, there was always something available to throw to keep them at bay. 

I wasn't gonna' die on account of some fuckin' girl. 

But thirteen years later, your priorities have changed. 

Chances are I'll be dead by dawn. 

* * * 

Even as I cut across the old army base, I don't see any of patrols. Either I'm having a lucky day, or they've been pulled in for some other purpose. 

With only fifty or so people on each side to work with, we have to keep things running pretty smoothly to survive and defend against each other. 

I reach the train yards just before sunset – it's crawling with girls. I circle around to the bridge that extends up and over the train yard to the other side of the river so I can better survey what they're up to. 

Two patrols of a First and a Second are taking wide circles around the east side of the yard. Another six are gathered around a tanker car. I whip out the telescope. 

I can't read lips, but they all seem fairly happy at whatever they've discovered. We'd never found anything useful in the train yards. 

I try to see if there are any markings on the tanker car to tell what's inside, but chances are they've found one of the tanks that wasn't left empty. We found one five years ago – used most of it for Molatov Cocktails, until we emptied out the local liquor mart. The few barrels worth that we have left are for heat in the winter – that's probably the girl's plan. 

As a Spy, sometimes I was sent right up close to the Glass Tower. Most of the other guys have never seen it – the girls are smart. They have alternating patrols and a wicked arsenal of explosives. They even found real grenades somewhere. 

I've seen both sides of this war, and I can't say I value our chances very well. The girls have ten more people than we do, and worst of all, they have patience. When I was spying, they were tearing up the pavement near the river – they were even using a Caterpillar to heave up the old pieces of asphalt and throw them to the side. They wouldn't go through that much effort unless it was for a long-term plan. 

We have the guns, but they have constancy. They'll outlive us. 

* * * 

Jessie would skin me if I came back without telling him what exactly was in the tanker, but I don't value my chances. It would be easier to just tell him it was gasoline. 

I sit back three hundred yards and observe the patrols circling the tanker for fifteen minutes or so until the sun has fully set, then I move forward. 

One of the biggest problems in the train yard is that it's all gravel – every footstep crunches. I time my footsteps to coincide with the patrol, stopping when they do – I get to within twenty yards of the tanker in this fashion. 

In the distance, I imagine I hear a car, but I slip under one of the nearby boxcars and try to focus on what the six girls are talking about. 

"It doesn't mean anything." 

"Maybe it means they're ready for a truce." 

"If they were ready for a truce, they wouldn't have cut up Angie last week." 

Now I definitely hear an engine. 

"They're here," one of the older-looking girls says. She's blond, and I think I recognize her from that night with Cat. She climbs up on top of the tanker and starts throwing out a long length of hose. I start to backpedal – I want to get out of the yards before whatever's wrapped around that engine shows up. Soon a pair of headlights blind us all, and a huge flatbed truck with sixteen empty barrels rolls up to the tanker. 

Before it stops, one woman jumps from the passenger seat and is calling for the others. She's headed towards me. Their headlights revealed my location. 

I shoot out the side of the boxcar and start rabbiting away, but I hear a loud, clear voice behind me;

"Hold!" Crunches in the gravel. I take a deep breath – I'm ready. "Turn around," one of them says. I turn, and twelve women are staring at me. One of them pulls up her rifle and aims – it's the blond rifleman from the night with Cat.

"Mind if I have one last smoke?" I ask. 

"I do," she says. A tall redhead puts a hand on the gun and pushes it aside. 

"Who's got rope?" the redhead asks. It's the sniper who didn't pick me off that night with Cat. Perhaps the girls stick together in groups. 

"We should shoot him dead!" the blond rifleman says. 

"It's Cypress," the redhead tells her. They all fall silent. They all know my name. Even the rifleman lets her rifle fall to her side. "Does anyone have any fucking rope?" 

I pull off my pack. 

"Watch him!" the blond calls, pulling up her gun again. I remove a roll of duct tape and toss it to the gravel at the redhead's feet, then light a cigarette. 

"What's this for?" the redhead asks. 

"It works just as well as rope," I shrug. None of them seem to want to be the one to tie me up. 

The staff and pack fall into the gravel, and the redhead finally steps forward, pulling on heavy leather goves.

* * * 

I'm bound with tape, gagged and blindfolded, crashing against the barrels in the back of the flatbed truck. Soon it comes to a stop, and I'm dragged by my feet for about twenty minutes or so – around bends and up flights of stairs - before being thrown onto a carpeted floor. 

As the tape is torn away from my eyes – it takes some of my hair with it. For a moment, the room seems pitch black, but I can make out the shaking silhouette of the girl who's now trying to get a gloved grip on the tape at my mouth. She decides to use a pair of needle-nosed pliers to get a hold of it instead. 

Now she kneels down beside me and brushes some hair out of my eyes – she looks frightened. Curious. Pitying. She is small – around five feet tall, and has dyed her hair a deep green. Her huge dark emerald eyes match the hair that falls around them. 

"Why did you let her go?" she asks. 

For some reason, I can't think of an answer to that. She holds out an apple to me. Where she found a real apple, I can't imagine, but she doesn't shy from my gloved hand as I snatch it away. 

"Thank you," she says. I can't be sure, but I think she means it. 

* * * 

* * *

i find the answers aren't so clear / wish i could find a way to disappear / all these thoughts they make no sense / i find bliss in ignorance / nothing seems to go away / over and over again

* * * 

* * * 

Several hours later, I've had no visitors. I'm not frightened. More curious. This hasn't ever really happened before – capture, I mean. Usually we're just killed on sight. 

I find myself in an empty office with huge glass windows, eight floors above the street. I'm in the Glass Tower. The door is locked, and I see no use in trying to break it down – I'd just be killed trying to escape. 

I wonder where Cat is. I sit by the floor to celing windows and stare down at the low battlements around the tower – perhaps she's one of those guards moving about under the spotlights. 

We never found out where the girls got their power from, but they manage to keep the spotlights around the Glass Tower going all night long. It's a fortress. 

A key hits the lock and I spin. For a moment the light from the hallway blinds me, but the redhead steps into the room and quickly closes the door behind her, stepping forward with a dog's leash and collar. She throws it to the floor in front of me. 

* * * 

I'm lead down to the main foyer of the Glass Tower – lights running off some unseen power source flood the huge open space, and forty or so girls have gathered to witness my fate, whatever that may be. 

The redhead leads me to a large purple couch, where a brunette with her hair tied back in a tight ponytail rests, a large-calibre handgun at her side and a beer in her hand. 

"Kneel," the brunette says. I look around, scanning the room for Cat. She's not around. I wish she was – something to look at, and all. Instead of Cat, a small sea of femenine eyes stare back at me. Chances are most of them can't remember the last time they saw a man this close. 

The butt of the redhead's rifle catches me in the back of the legs and I drop to my knees. 

"Thank you," the brunette says. A few older-looking women laugh, but I swear I can hear the redhead whisper;

"Sorry." 

"So you're the man who shows mercy," the leader says. "Do you expect the same from us?" 

"No," I say. She doesn't like this answer. 

"Give me a reason to spare your life," she barks at me. "Offer something!" 

"As you can see, I have nothing." 

"You won't even beg for leniency?" 

"Perhaps we have differing opinions of what's worth begging for." 

She doesn't expect this answer. No one knows quite what to say. 

"Maybe…" the redhead's voice cracks behind me. She's nervous. "Maybe we should send him back." The brunette balks. 

"And why the fuck would we want to do that?" 

"Maybe… maybe there's others like him. Maybe some of them don't want to kill us." 

"It's not a question of whether or not they want to kill us! It's what they do!" the brunette barks. There are sounds of approval from the crowd. "What – do you want a happy little life with boys and girls together? If he touches you, you die. If he breathes on you – you die." 

"I didn't." The voice breaks through the room like the clear, easy tone of a bell. Eyes dart about for the scource, and the crowd clears slightly. Cat stands against the far wall, a bandage showing under her loose fitting knit shirt. 

"But you were almost killed none the less," the brunette says. "The sniper nearly took care of that." 

"Yes," Cat nods. "And instead of leaving me there to die, he took me to Michelle." The redhead nods. I assume she's Michelle.

"Phoebe…" Michelle says. I assume her name's Michelle. "I could have killed him two weeks ago. He took that chance. He brought her back." 

"And then, in turn for sparing her life, you spared his. But now, he's made a move against us. He's seen the tanker, we can't let him go back. We can't allow him free reign here, he would only try to escape," the bunette says. "Wouldn't you?" For some reason I can't imagine her name being Phoebe. 

"Yes," I say. The brunette leans back, satisfied. 

"See?" 

"You should stay," a higher voice offers. I hadn't noticed, but the green-haired girl with the apple has been standing beside Cat. Cat's hand now gently rests on the smaller girl's shoulder. The green-haired girl is too young… she looks to be almost sixteen or so. 

"He wouldn't stay," Phoebe shouts at her. "Michelle, if you can't keep your pet from barking, i'll throw her back in the kennel." The green-haired girl looks terrified, and Cat, silent and maternal steps in front of her. Phoebe looks away from Cat, and narrows her eyes on Michelle. "This isn't the first time your floor has brought home a stray." 

"And we are stronger for it," Michelle says. 

It's Jessie's room all over again. Infighting between the Thirds, competing for the loyalty of the Seconds and Firsts. I never had patience for the politial intrigue – the solutions always seem to simple to me. 

"Phoebe," I say. She's surprised I've picked up her name. "It seems to me the most important thing for you to consider is not necessarily the well-being of your collective, but your place within it. Therefor the obvious thing to do is put my fate to a vote, to ensure the majority is satisfied. To spare time, let the Thirds vote, as they most likely represent the opinions of the younger girls on their… 'floors'."

Phoebe is shocked by this. She narrows her eyes and leans in. 

"Can you… read?" she says. I nod. A wave of hushed excitement breaks over the room. "Shut up!" Phoebe shouts at the crowd. "Are you why they burned down the Westwood library? You went there to read?" 

I nod. Phoebe sits back, contemplative. 

"The River Plan – he can help, he-" 

"Shut up!" Phoebe roars at Michelle. "It's not a secret if you talk about it," she says, then looks to me. "How well can you?" 

"English," I shrug. "Some French." 

"French?" She blinks. "Do you understand… technical schematics?" 

"Yes." 

It is an eerie pause, as if they're all sharing an uncomfortable silence. Phoebe leans back, seeming defeated. 

"Put him back on the eigth tower. All of you – I want runners bringing in the Alphas, get back to your posts. I want all the other Alphas back here in an hour – got it? Get him out of here." 

Michelle gently tugs on my collar, and I'm led back to the stairwell. 

* * * 

She closes the door beind her and locks it, waiting as I remove the collar. 

"I would have set you free – last night, I mean," she says. "At the train yards." I nod. "But there were so many others around – people who didn't believe us about you. Even Lisa's not sure." 


smokeSCREEN: bookONE



"Us?" I ask. She lights herself a cigarette, before walking to the window and sitting, looking out over the early morning. 

"Our floor. I mean, me and a few others saw it with our eyes, but no one believed us." I pick up the cigarettes and lighter and sit by the window, ten or so feet from her.

"What's a 'floor'?" I ask, lighting a smoke. 

"When we first found the Tower, after we got out of the bunker? We divided up into floors – five girls a floor, we covered the first thirteen or so. One or two Alphas to a floor, they each had one or two Betas and Cetas beneath them. When we go out on patrols or guard duty or something, we do it with our floors." 

"We don't have something like that," I say. "It's every man for himself." She smiles at me. 

"I'm surprised you guys survived this long, living like that." 

"I don't think we will survive," I say. "Soon the food's gonna' run out. It would be different if we were planting crops or something, but there's not enough infrastructure with good soil nearby. 

What's this River Project?" She dips her face into her hands.

"You can read… that's unbelievable. It's like a gift from God." 

"No one here can read?" 

"Jackie, Phoebe's older sister, she could read. She used to lead us. She read all the time, but wouldn't let anyone else. We weren't allowed near the library. Five years ago, when we were first starting the River Project, Jackie drowned and Phoebe took over." 

"And by that time, the rest of you had forgotten how to read, so you didn't know how to finish the Project." She nods. 

"If things keep up this way, we won't be able to stay in the city – we'll have to migrate south and hope for the best." She pauses, listening, then stands and heads for the door. "I'll have Anze bring some food." The door bursts opens, seemingly of its own volition. 

A Japanese third stares at Michelle accusingly. 

"What were you doing?" she demands. 

"Trying to see what he'd tell us about their defenses," Michelle says, pushing past the other woman. 

"And…?" 

Michelle turns and brings up her eyes to meet mine. For a moment, there is something… something gently pushing at me as it pulls me in. 

"Nothing," Michelle says. The door slams shut. 

I look to my feet at the pack of cigarettes and lighter. 

"Thank you," I say to the empty room. 

* * * 

* * * 

now feel the trance of this goddes / vicious vibrations / lap dances/ venemous serpents of temptation / awkward balance / scars on my back from her talons / an evil evening / drinking blood by the gallons // drenched

* * * 
* * *

A half an hour later, a key hits the lock and the door slowly creaks open. Cat enters, an old piece of paper in her hand.

Her hair has been tied back in a loose ponytail, but some of her hair, clumped with dirt, hangs in her face. She doesn't look at me – she locks the door behind her and sets the paper on the table. 

I'm nervous – I don't know why, but I am – and I light a cigarette. She stares off in the distance, seeming troubled, before finally turning to me and leaning against the table. 

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she says. "But I watched for you." 

"Me too," I say. 

"I have to ask you something and I really need you to answer me." I nod. 

"I'll try." 

"Why?" I still haven't thought up a good reason for it. I don't know what to tell her. 

"Who's the young girl with green hair?"

"Anze, we found her in the ruins – answer me." 

"What if I don't know." 

"You have to." 

"Why?" 

"Because it wasn't natural!" she cries. "You should have killed me! It's what you do! Now nothing's right, everything's fucked up. No one knows what to think, and…" 

"Well… I'm sorry." 

"Just… shut up." She steps forward and pulls off her right glove. I start. 

"Wait, what…?" 

"Shut up!" she says as she comes closer, her hand outstretched towards me. I throw my cigarette aside and start pushing back, away from her, but she darts forward and nearly grazes my cheek. I cry out and throw her aside. She tumbles across the carpet and slams into the door. 

"Fucking bitch!" I bark at her. "Why would you do that?!" She's crying, her hair blocking her face. "Are you insane!" I'm shouting. "You fucking…!" 

"It's not normal," she's whispering. "It's not normal… what do you feel?" 

"What?" 

"What do you feel?" 

"Pissed. Off." 

"Cypress…" I take three quick strides, grab her by her collar and heave her to her feet. 

"Don't. Do that," I say. "I didn't let you live just so you could kill me!" She nods, wiping her eyes. I walk over to the desk and snatch up the paper, giving it a quick scan. 

It's a child's nursery rhyme, leathery with time and stained. 

"What do I do with this?" I say. When I turn back, she's gone. 

The lock clicks into place.

* * * 

A short time later the green-haired girl arrives, carrying a backpack. She doesn't look at me – she enters, closes and locks the door. The leather backpack slides from her small shoulders and she digs through it. She realizes she's forgotten something, and finally darts those huge green eyes up to mine. 

"Sorry," she says. 

And then she leaves. 

Ten minutes and a half a cigarette later, she comes in with the identical backpack. She doesn't look at me – she enters, closes and locks the door. The leather backpack is quickly jerked from her slender shoulders, and she nervously draws out a can and a can opener. 

There is no lable on the can, but as she opens it I can smell sweet pear juice. She sets the open can on the floor, placing the can opener and lid back in her pack before drawing out a pad of paper and a pen. 

"Is this okay?" she asks. I pick up the can of pears and walk back to the windows. 

"You going to take my statement?" I ask. She sits at the door and stares intently at me. 

"Your picture," she says. "I want to… I want to draw you." This is not the answer I expected. There's no room for creativity any more – it's all about survival now. 

"When do you find time to draw?" I ask, stuffing a pear slice into my mouth. 

"They don't let me do anything," she says. "Michelle found me when I was almost five – I was living in a supermarket in the North End. Phoebe doesn't let me do anything 'cause she doesn't trust me." Already, the pen in her hand is moving confidently over the page in front of her. She's barely looking at it – she's looking at me. But I don't get the sense that she's focused on me – as if whatever she's drawing is in abstract. 

"You talk a lot," I tell her. Now she looks stunned. 

"I'm sorry," she says, standing and packing up her things. "Please don't tell anyone… I'm sorry." 

And then Anze leaves. 

I eat half the peaches and leave the can in the desk for later – who knows how long I'll be staying. 

* * * 

An hour later, Michelle shows up. 

"What news from the front?" I ask, managing a fake smile. She doesn't smile back – she doesn't say anything. 

The leash hits the floor at my feet and she looks away, wiping her face. 

* * * 

The crowd is much smaller – fifteen or twenty women – most likely all Thirds. Cat's not around, and something tells me Anze's cowering in a corner somewhere. 

Michelle leads me up to Phoebe's purple couch and lets a length of the leash out, stepping off to the side with the others. They all just stare at me. Perhaps I have a bit of a death wish, but I'm not a patient man at things like this. 

With bound wrists, I draw a cigarette out of my pocket and light it. Phoebe balks. 

"Where did you get that?" 

"What's my fate?" I ask. 

"Death." 

I shrug and turn to Michelle. 

"Let's go." 

"He can read it!" Michelle says. 

"It's no matter – he attacked Cat." 

"Wait – I what?" 

"Cat came to me in confidence and revealed that you attacked her when she went to bring you food – that's why I had to send poor Anze. I sort of hoped you'd finished the runt off." 

I nod. That makes sense – sort of. Why the fuck had she tried to touch me in the first place? 

"Yes, I attacked Cat, when she came at me with her glove off. She tried to touch me." 

"Why would she do that? That would kill her." 

"Fuck off – she was trying to kill me!" I bark. Murmers of surprise ripple through the small crowd. "You know what you chicks know about me? Shit! You know what I know about you? Nothin'! For all I know, for what I've seen, you're just like the fuckin' stereotypes. You're too emotional! You do things seemingly at random and for no reason whatsoever! And, yes, if you end up killing me you will be the bloodthirsty bitches Jessie's been telling me about my whole life.

You people are insane." 

That shuts them up. 

"Cat attacked you first,' Phoebe says. I nod. "Michelle, you've spoken with him and you know Cat, what do you think?" 

For a moment, I feel a bit sorry that Michelle's been placed on the spot. I keep my eyes on Phoebe and smoke my cigarette. Michelle seems to consider what to say for a long time. 

"Let's hear him read it," she says. "Cat's been acting strange lately, so it's possible. If there's a chance he can really read… I'll vouch for him to stay." 

"Well – let's see the paper." 

"The one I'm supposed to read?" I ask. 

"Yes." 

"Star light, star bright, first star I've seen tonight?"

Phoebe sits back. 

"I didn't believe he could do it until just now." 

That convinced her?

"Alright! He can read, Michelle will take responsibility for him – if he stays – vote! Who votes we kill him?" 

Three hands. 

"…who votes he lives?" 

The rest. Even Phoebe. 

"Settled – Michelle, give him back his staff and telescope – locker three-eighteen – he'll pull duty with Floor Thirteen until I've got some things together – lock him up at night. Everyone get your floors back here for the general meeting in twenty minutes." 

And with that, Michelle drags me back to the stairwell. 

Suddenly, she's speaking freely with me. 

"I thought you were dead – I thought that would be it after Cat denounced you." 

"She attacked me first." 

We don't go up – we go down – down three flights into a sub basement. There she gets a key from a single guard, and we open the locker marked 318. 

She pulls my utility belt, staff and telescope from the locker and hands them to me. 

I could kill her right now. We're even far enough away the guard wouldn't hear. 

"I won't tell anyone if you won't," she says. 

"What?" 

"Your blade," she motions towards the staff. "No need to tell anyone about it – right?" 

"It's not mine," I tell her as she closes the locker. 

"You'll find things are alright here, for the time being. Once we get the River Plan working, we'll be able to stay and live comfortably." 

"I prefer the company of people who aren't lethal to the touch." 

"What?" she looks at me. 

"Lethal – deadly." 

"Oh. I'll try to get scouting for Broadway and The Forks – maybe we can swing by the Library." 

"Michelle, I appreciate your help, but I'm leaving now." 

"No you're not." It's as if the thought hadn't occurred to her. She's stunned. "No – you have to stay. We'll all die if you don't." 

"I'll die if I do." 

Michelle closes the locker and stares at me, her brow furrowed. 

"Cat's always thought more with her heart than her head, Cypress. She's confused because you changed the rules. Everything that used to be, isn't any more. Everything they told us about you. You are the answer to your own problem – don't you see that?" 

No – I don't. The more time I spend around them, the more I realize women are insane. 

"No, I don't." 

"Cypress… Phoebe and Jackie told us for years that all boys would do is kill us. All they wanted to do was kill us. But you didn't. So what else might be a lie?" 

I still don't understand. 

"It's what Cat was trying to show you – it's not true." 

"What's not true?" 

Before I even see it being rased, her bare hand is at my cheek – her few inches of pale skin hot against mine – and she's pressing me against a locker. 

In my panic, at first none of it's real – none of it is happening – but my senses cool and it's as if waking after a long sleep. I feel as if a hand may or may not be on my face. Then I see it – then I see her eyes – those huge brown eyes inches from mine. I feel no pain, nothing. Even the panic is ebbing – she doesn't look afraid. 

"You see?" she whispers. My brow furrows, and I become conscious that my jaw has been slack for some time. I close my mouth and raise a hand. She doesn't shy from my touch – my fingertips stroke her forehead – then her cheeks – her jaw and throat. 

The touch does not feel unpleasant. There is no burning. I don't feel sick or even malnourished. Nothing is happening, aside from a quickening in my heart. 

Her breathing is quicker now, and her other hand finds my throat – just stroking the bare skin – I gasp. It's all so impossible. Everything we'd ever known. This is not death. I stroke her hair – it is softer than it looks. 

She lets one of her hands grip mine and examines my fingers. We both stumble to the floor of the locker room and sit, leaning against each other, caressing hands. 

"Have you…?" 

"No," she says. "But I feel…" She looks up at me and we stare at each other for a moment – hands still gently stroking our faces. Her eyes are welling up – shiny. "I feel so much…" she says. "I feel…" 

My hands run through heir hair, and her nose strokes from my lip to my cheek, our faces pressed together as we both gasp for breath. 

"Oh!" she yelps and pushes back, pushes away into the locker on the other side of the iasle. "What if this is it? What if this is how it feels – the disease?" 

I can't say I completely disagree with her reasoning. I'd never felt anything like it. I stand, and hold out an arm for her. She grips it above the wrist and I pull her up. 

"We don't tell anyone," I say. "We keep a low profile, and if it is the disease, we'll be dead in a day – but there's no reason to tell anyone." 

She stoops to pick up the staff, and stands up. She's tall – her eyes are level with mine. Just for a moment. Just for a moment, we're so close, I can feel the heat from the body. 

Just for a moment, she nearly closes her eyes.

"If it's too late anyway," she says, quickly stroking her cheek against mine. An electric current runs through me at the sudden contact. 

"Michelle!" someone calls. We both jump. 

"Coming!" she barks, shoving my backpack into my hands and dragging me away. 

As she pulls me up the stairs, I am sure to hold the pack just below my belt buckle. 

* * * 

We're six minutes late to the general meeting, and are asked to stay outside for most of the briefing regardless. So long as I'm part of Michelle's floor, no one on that floor will be privy to strategies against Westwood. 

The seven of us sit outside the lobby, waiting for the others to get through the general meeting before Phoebe gives the 13th Floor the assignment she's got picked out for us. 

For the most part, we sit in silence. Anze sits between Michelle and I, staring eagerly over at me. Cat sits silently on the other side of Michelle, along with a… Beta, I think is the word, named Crow. Crow's a cruel-looking young thing with jet-black hair and eyes that seem to be constantly getting colder. Her hair hangs in sharp spikes against her pale jawline, and a slender gloved hand permanently grips a sawed off double-barrel shotgun. 

Fifteen feet to my left sits Lisa, the athletic-looking blond who had wanted to much to shoot me at the train yards. Lisa's hair is more yellow than Cat's, and she has a high power rifle strapped to her back. Next to her is Sophia, a brunette in a touque and layers of baggy clothing, who does not betray a single emotion as she stares patiently forward. 

Michelle made uncomfortable introductions after we came up from the basement, and intentionally sat between Cat and I, positioning Anze to my right. 

After twenty minutes or so the others leave the main lobby and Phoebe's Ceta calls us in. We stand, a band a parte, before her royal purple couch as she smiles at us. 

"Who wants to go walking today?" Phoebe asks. 

"Where?" Lisa says. 

"The south end," Phoebe smiles sweetly back. 

"It's still crawling with the dogs," Michelle says. "No one's going into the south end." 

Dogs of all creed – it's true. They hunt in the grasslands and live in the old high-priced houses. There are choice items in the south end, but you have to deal with packs of dogs sometimes thirty strong.

"You are," Phoebe says. 

"What are we looking for?" I ask. 

"Scout the area, assess if there's still danger, find a scooter," she says. 

"What, like a motor scooter?" 

"No, just a scooter." 

"Why?" 

"Because I want one. Shoo now – I'll expect all of you back by morning." No one responds. Even Michelle can't believe her. Anze begins to head off towards the basement as the rest of us head for the main doors. 

"Michelle – Lisa?" Phoebe calls again. We stop, and the Alphas turn back to her. "Keep an eye on him - Rule Three." 

Michelle nods. Lisa steps forward, spitting words at Phoebe.

"You can't Rule Three him – we can't trust him!" 

"Rule Three – happy hunting." 

* * * 

The Sun isn't offensively hot as we move south, but I haven't slept in two days, and my feet are heavy. The other guards and patrols give Michelle and Lisa a pitying look as we pass by. I'm walking ahead of everyone – Lisa plans to shoot me if I try to run. Crow and Sophia take up the rear, with Cat behind Lisa and Michelle. 

Michelle and Lisa are arguing over me. 

"I'm not disputing the potential, I'm saying it's not worth the trouble – we could be killed, and for what?" 

I light a smoke. Michelle speaks easily, calmly – the voice of reason. 

"As long as he proves loyal, Phoebe will come around." 

"He won't prove loyal. I'm just glad he doesn't have a gun – he may try to kill us all, you know." 

The staff strikes the pavement in an easy rhythm. 

"When will you stop listening to everything Phoebe has to say?" Michelle asks. We're crossing the Osbourne Bridge – the regularly patrolled territory disappears slowly behind us. I'm so fucking tired. 

I'm scanning the area for means of escape. The good intentions of Michelle won't protect me for long– it will be best just to head back to Westwood and report on everything I've seen – I may even get promoted back to Spy. 

"We should Rule Three him right now," Lisa says. I'm so fucking tired, but I prick my ears at this. "Pick up the body on the way back," she says. I can hear Lisa pulling her rifle from her shoulder. 

"What's Rule Three?" I casually ask over my shoulder. Michelle's eyes dart to mine before looking away. 

"It's nothing," she says. "Just an old rule – eyes up." I turn back to the road ahead. Michelle whispers something harsh to Lisa, but I can't make it out. Suddenly, Lisa speaks clearly to me;

"Rule Three means that if you don't come back with us, dead or alive, one of us will be killed at random." My brow furrows – she's lying. I look to Michelle. "Hold!" Lisa calls. The party comes to a halt. "Alright, I say we kill him," she says. "He's too big of a risk to us as a Floor." 

"You couldn't," Cat says softly. Lisa raises an eyebrow and looks to me. 

"I don't see why not-" she raises a pistol towards my head but for a moment is blinded by the early Sun. After she finishes her blink, she finds the the pistol coming apart in her hands. Split diagonally from the trigger guard to the hammer, the barrel slips from the stock and hits the pavement. 

I slip the sword back into the staff and lean on it as she gets her bearings. 

"Don't do that," I tell her softly. 

"What…?" Even Michelle's a little surprised. 

"I told you how fast he is," Cat says now, moving towards me. 




smokeSCREEN: bookONE



"Fuck, even I didn't think he could do that," Michelle says, staring at me. Like Lisa, she for a moment is afraid, and her brow creases. "Do it again." 

There's a flash of silver and steel, and the staff rests comfortably at my side. 

"…what?" Michelle says. There is a toc, like a marble hitting pavement. Then another. And another. Michelle looks down to see the beads of her necklace pouring onto the ground. She's just staring. Behind Lisa, Crow is grinning – the first time I've seen her smile. Lisa raises her rifle and lets it rest against her shoulder.

"We'll keep him – for now," Lisa says. Cat and Crow smile – Sophia just pushes on ahead. Michelle stays behind long enough to whisper, harsh and hot in my ear; 

"I'm glad you're quick with a blade, but I'm a crack shot." 

She squints against the sun, and turns so it's at her back.

"If you try to run, I'll kill you myself."

* * *

* * * 

now if a six / turned out to be nine / i don't mind / i don't mind // if all the hippies / cut off all their hair / i don't care / i don't care // cause i've got my own world to live through 

* * * 

* * * 

By noon, we're reaching the furthest point any of us had ever dared venture. 

The south end, if anyone's talking about it, means through the fields to where the rich people used to live, which is an island of mansions that floats somewhere south of the perimiter highway. Even across the ten miles of prarie, the million-dollar houses can be seen rising from the cool pulse of the tall grass. 

We six stand, staring out over those tall grasses, down the stretch of hot broken road leading to the South End.

"How long for you guys?" I ask. 

"…what do you mean?" Lisa says. Michelle takes a knee and scoops up some earth, testing the winds. 

"Eight years," she says. 

"Five, for us," I tell her as I light a cigarette. "We swooped around south of you guys, trying to get to East Kildonan – ended up right on this spot." 

"What happened?" Sophia says. I've never heard Sophia speak – she has a higher voice than I expected. 

"A pack of feral dogs attacked us from out of the grass. One kid was mauled, another we buried – just over there." I point to a still-undisturbed cairn of stones, fifty feet east. 

Everyone observes an impromptu moment of silence, before Crow asks the next question;

"How many have you guys lost in all?"

"Hush, Crow," Michelle whispers. All I can hear is the wind in the grass. 

"…what is it?" I say. 

"She has no right to ask you questions like that. That's just the sort of stuff Phoebe wants to know." 

"Yeah, all the more reason he should tell us," Lisa chimes in. 

"How many have you lost?" I ask. Lisa regards me, considering for a moment, before saying; 

"Fifteen – eleven to you guys." I glance to Michelle, who nods, solemnly. 

"Thirteen," I say. "Eight to you." 

"What do you think that says?" Crow pipes up again. "That we're worse at surviving, or that you're better at killing?" 

I take a drag and think that I really should respond to this, though for a second I don't know what to say. 

"I think…" I begin, still considering. "…it means, at the rate things are going, in another forty years we'll all be dead." 

That ends the Q and A session. 

"…so let's get to work," I say, taking the first step on the final stretch south. 

* * * 

We travel in silence, taking uneasy footsteps across the forbidden country. Nothing but the wind in the grass that presses around us, and the increasingly hot Sun overhead. 

"Shh!" Michelle suddenly hisses. "Do you hear that?"

We all stop and raise an ear to the wind. 

"…is that a dog?" Sophia says, reaching for something in an oversized pocket. 

"No," Michelle says. "It's… it sounds like an engine." 

We all strain to hear. Soon, it's clearly an engine. 

"Where is it?" We turn out into a circle, scanning the grassy abyss for the source. 

"It's south," I say. 

"It can't be south – nothing's south," Lisa snaps back. But she listens, all the same. 

"No, he's right – it's south of us," Crow says. "What the fuck is it?" 

"It's not too big," I say. 

"Whoever it is, they're not going to spot us before we spot them – into the grass," Lisa says. 

"I'm not going in that grass," Sophia says plainly. 

"Then I'll knock you out and drag you in," Michelle barks, gripping the younger woman's collar. "Get in there!" She throws Sophia in after Cat. Crow and I sink into the long grasses beside each other. My hand loosely holds the staff, hers the shotgun. She double-checks that it's loaded before double-checking her belt for ammunition. 

"Ready set?" Michelle says quietly, somewhere in the grass nearby. 

"Set," Crow says quietly. 

"Set," Cat echoes to our left.

"Set." 

"Set." 

"Set," I say. 

"Hold," Michelle says. Crow leans back on her haunches and sits, crossing her legs beneath her. She looks quickly to me – her eyes that icy-cold blue – and whipers;

"Hold means we're gonna' be here a while – don't light a smoke – just keep your eyes open." 

I lean back and cross my legs, nodding. 

"If you see something, call Sight, and the direction – like Sight Northwest, or something – but not too loud." 

"Crow, you want to shut up?" Lisa hisses nearby. "I'm trying to listen." 

The engine's getting louder. Crow and I slowly lean back on our hands and move backwards through the grasses, until we feel more shielded from the road. 

"Soon," she whispers. 

The engine's getting louder. 

The engine's roaring. And now it screams by us – it looked like an SUV. 

"Hold!" Michelle whispers harshly. I can hear her moving through the grass. "Clear – but low!" she calls. Crow bends so she's still covered by the grasses and makes her way to the edge of the field. "Cypress – check it out." 

I whip out my telescope and point it down the road the the SUV. 

"Two Old Ones – maybe like, fifty or so. A younger guy driving – one of them has…" I lean back and blink, then look again. "…yeah, he's got an assault rifle." 

"Where'd he find an assault rifle? The army base was cleared out." 

"I'm not sure they're from around here," I say as I collapse the telescope and find my smokes. "California plates." 

* * * 

We're still heading south – Old Ones from California or no, we still need to find out how many dogs are in the South End. 

Soon we can clearly see the overgrown but intact windows of the old mansions. The streets are empty, but clean. No rubble from the few smashed buildings. 

"You guys never got this far?" I ask. Michelle shakes her head. 

"You?" 

"Never – looks like someone got here before us." Lisa nods. 

"They've got a fire further south," Crow calls down. I hadn't noticed, but she's climbed to a second story window. She drops to the pavement ahead of us and takes up the lead. 

"Hold on – I'm not sure we should go any further," Sophie says now. There is a quick glance, from Crow to Michelle and Lisa to check for rank, and Crow stops and comes back, shoving the shorter girl lightly. 

"You gonna' be the one who tells Phoebe we chickened? You wanna' be the one?" She gives Sophie another push, and Sophie pulls down her touque and nods. 

"Ready set," Lisa says. They all ready their weapons. I slide the staff from my back and take a step forward in time to see Crow wink at me.

"Set," we call in unison. 

"Three block spread," Michelle says. Lisa nods and we split into two groups, heading in opposite directions. Cat, Michelle and I head west while Lisa, Crow and Sophie go east. When we're a block away from the main street, Michelle turns us south, and we proceed towards the tiny whiff of smoke – though it is strange we never saw it before. 

Soon, we come out of the sidestreet to see the lawn of one of the larger houses full of cars – big ones, small ones. Two motorbikes. 

Inside the house, flames flicker in the windows, and people are shouting. I peer east and see Lisa leaning out of a backyard, staring at the house. 

The Sun is waning from midday to dusk, and we hear the engine in the distance again. Michelle pulls me back and flashes a hand signal to Lisa. 

We shrink back into the long shadows, and after a time the SUV barrels down the street and onto the lawn. The two old ones from before jump out and shout up to the house. 

"It's ripe!" one of them calls. 

"See any dogs?" one from the house asks. 

"Saw a pack following, but we left them half a mile back. Should probably lock up 'till we got them all." 

As if on cue, a single bark sounds, echoing off the empty houses. 

Michelle and I look to each other, and she nods, pulling back, motioning to Cat. Cat puts a hand to her mouth a barks back. If I hadn't seen it, I would have sworn it was a real dog. 

As we gather back at the road to the city, a howl rises above the island of high-priced homes. 

"Wasn't me," Crow says. "Sun's going down – let's get back." 

"Right," Michelle nods. 

"What about the scooter?" Sophie asks quietly behind us. 

Another howl. 

"Between the dogs and those Old Ones, I say we turn back now," Lisa says, tightening the strap that holds her rifle secure to her back. 

"What happens if we go back without the scooter?" I ask. No one really has an answer. 

"Depends on how serious she is about wanting one," Michelle says. 

"How serious was she?" I ask. Michelle shrugs. 

"We won't know until we get back."

* * * 

In a last-ditch effort, we search the nearest four houses for a scooter – Sophie finds a skateboard. 

An hour and a half later, the Sun has set and we've nearly reached the north edge of the grasslands. The city, usually so dark and foreboding now seems to offer nothing but protection. 

And now another howl echoes over the grass. We freeze. Our blood freezes. 

Now a bark. 

My eyes dart to Crow, then to Cat. They're both terrified. 

Another bark. And another. Something is moving through the grass. 

"Stay together!" Lisa calls. "Together!" 

A booming howl sounds, and a huge black shape bursts through the grasses and rushes us. Lisa jumps back as Michelle pulls up her rifle. 

Ka-BOOM! 

The dog yelps, but keeps coming – it jumps for Sophie, and in a flash of silver its right shoulder and head crash to the ground just shy of the body. 

The blade's slick with blood, and I turn again to face the grass. 

"There's one!" Crow yells, pulling up her shotgun as a German-shepherd cross shoots towards us. Both barrels flare to an echoing boom, and the dog's torso blows open – it trips over its paws and tumbles to a bloody stop ten feet away. 

Suddenly another has Lisa's leg – she clubs it with the butt of her rifle and it falls away before Michelle shoots it twice. In the confusion I don't see whatever hits me from behind, and as the claws tear at my back, I barely hear another shotgun blast. 

I throw the dog's carcass off and stand, gritting my teeth as my jacket scrapes against the cuts on my back.

For a few minutes it's savage. The thunder of their guns – blood splattering the pavement – howls and cries and screams, until I stumble back, wiping sweat from my brow and find there are no dogs left to kill. 

A bark. And another. Further away. 

We stand for a long time, listening for another bark, before finally collapsing to the ground.

"Twenty minute break," Lisa says. "Eat and head back." 

Cat and Sophie pull out five apples and give one each to the girls. Michelle splits hers to share with me, and we sit in a quiet circle as Sophie, gloves and all, dresses Lisa's leg before moving on to Cat's shoulder – a dog had bitten her bullet wound. She's about to attend to my back when we hear the engine coming from the south. Someone heard the rifles, and it's almost deafening already. 

"Scatter!" Lisa shouts. I wince as I stand, and Michelle hands me the staff as a huge van barrels up the south road and skids to a halt. I quickly pull up my armband so it covers my eyes. Six old ones, armed to the teeth jump out and tell us to hold still. 

My pack and belt are pulled away, and something yanks at the staff. The girls start screaming. 

"Can't you see he's blind?" Michelle barks. I hear a thump and a cry, and now just shuffling of feet. They leave me the staff, and I'm led into the van to have my wrists bound. 

* * * 

Forty five minutes later, I'm pulled from the van with the others. A short conversation ensues; 

"They're all clean – where'd you find them?" 

"Out by the fields." 

"…they look healthy." 

"Except those two – the boy's blind and the skinny one doesn't look promising." 

"Put them in there, then – make sure it's locked tight. Throw the others in the pen and put some guards on them." 

I'm pushed along until I trip over a board and fall onto a concrete floor. My legs are heaved in after me, and I can hear someone stumbling to not fall on me.

As the door slams and locks, I pull my armband from my eyes and survey the dim room. 

A single shaft of light from the full moon outside penetrates a window and illuminates a pair of legs. In the darkness, I can't be sure who they're attached to, but they're slim enough to presume it's Crow. 

"Good trick with the blindfold," she whispers. "…I don't know what they're on – I'm not skinny." 

"Where are we?" I slide the blade from the staff and let the rope at my wrists split against it. They fall off easily, and I stand and draw the blade fully. 

"In a garage near the house they took over," she says. Crow holds out her wrists and the blade flashes between them – the rope falling to the floor. 

"The others?" I ask. Even in the dim light, her eyes are pale and cold as a crackes sapphire. 

"I didn't see." She stands and tries to see out the window – not tall enough. "Have you ever seen so many Old Ones gathered together?" I shake my head. And their skin… it was all… broken and sore." 

"They must be nomads, scavenging, moving north," I say as I pull off a boot and slide a thin metal canister out. 

"What's that?" she asks. "Explosives?" 

"Better,' I say. I open it and hold one out for her. 

"Smokes," she smiles, then shakes her head as she takes it. "You're a creature of habit, Cypress." I light her smoke and begin poking around in the back of the garage. 

"If you have smokes, the rest takes care of itself." She raises a skeptical eyebrow. 

"Really," she says. I hold up a case of old beer bottles. 

"Really," I say. "Find some rags." 

* * * 

* * * 

we're the league that serve the justice / we're the confident ones / come run amongst us / and conquer someone // some come to seek honour / some seek to wreak havoc / either you do or don't have it / if we speak it, it's tragic // when the sun rises / are you surprised that i'm a beast / leather-faced / wicked / cracks that start to crease 

* * * 

* * *

I wait in the shadows by the door while Crow finishes the molatov cocktails – the jerrycan in the back was a lucky find. Soon, without warning or footstep the door swings open. I can't see what's on the other side, but I leap forward and swing my sword in a horizontal cut through the door. It slices three-quarters of the way through and I don't hear a cry from the other side, but when I jerk it back through the door, the end is slick with blood and I hear a body collapse. Quickly, I drag the body inside and gently close the door, flipping it for a quick search. 

It's a man, thirty-eight or so with two weeks of beard and a face covered in scars and a few open sores. My cut spilled his bowels and severed his spinal cord just below his ribcage – he hadn't suffered. 

A whip is still gripped in his hand, and a set of keys in the other. Perhaps he came to torture us. I look up to Crow, who's stopped in the middle of stuffing a rag and is staring at the body. 

"Yes?" I say. She shakes it off and keeps working. 

On the body I find no smokes or food, but his boots are better than mine and we're the same size, so I switch with him. 

Now, as I help Crow with the last of the cocktails and she finds a good canvas bag to carry them in, I realize what she must be thinking. 

"This is different," I tell her. She seems surprised to hear me speak, and looks up from her search.

"Different from what?" she asks. 

"I wouldn't… kill one of you to escape," I say. She stands and shoulders the bag of bottles, shaking her head. 

"Sure you would," she says. "I'd do the same." She glances up again with those fiercely cold blue eyes – too cold, maybe – and I'm locked for a second. 

I shake it off, slip the blade into the staff and reach for the doorknob. 

"Ready set?" I say. She shakes her head;

"Take off your shirt, we need to look at the cuts." 

"We can deal with that later-" 

"We can deal with it now." 

"Right now we don't know what they're doing with the others – the bleeding's stopped, I'm fine." She readies a Bic lighter and one of the cocktails. 

"Set," she says. I open the door to the screaming crickets and empty night sky, and the two of us slip out among the shadows. 

"Weapons or the others?" I ask once we're facing the big house. 

"Weapons first – then the others." 

"Agreed – best location?" 

"One of the cars – still in the van, most likely. They have better equipment than we do – they probably won't be interested in salvaging it." We sneak around the side of the garage until we can see the front yard – none of the Old Ones are around, but the large van is there, plain as day. 

Crow and I don't speak, but we do seem to go into the same mode, sitting back on our haunches and patiently surveying the area. 

"Three lights on in the house," I say. 

"Twenty-five cars – at three people per car that's seventy-five Old Ones." 

"Plus the motorbikes." 

"I want my shotgun," she grimaces – she does look naked without it. The van is twenty yards away – but it's all open ground, lit well by moonlight. 

"I'll go first," I say. It is logical – if I get into a bind, I'll have my sword, and I know how to use it. 

"Good plan," she nods. …I didn't expect that. 

I lean forward and prick my ears – nothing – not even the echoing footsteps of some distant sentry. My knuckles turn white on the staff and I leap forward, dashing quickly across the twenty yards to the van. Looking back towards the garage, Crow has entirely disappeared in the shadows – I can only make out those pale eyes. 

I slip under the van and crawl to the front driver's door – it's unlocked, and I silently lift the handle to slip into the cab. In the back of the van I indeed find my pack, belt, various other bags and Crow's shotgun, as well as a few of their handguns and blades. Lisa's and Michelle's high power rifles, however, are absent, along with the high power rounds. I empty the food and safety gear from my larger pack and pour the girls' weapons and supplies into it, hefting the load onto my shoulder. Toting Crow's shotgun in my free hand, I silently hop back out the driver's side door and lean back on my haunches on the grass, making sure everything is good and still. In the pitch black shadows of the garage, I can still make out Crow's blue eyes. 

Two small barks sound nearby, just as I dash back across the lit ground to the garage. I silently fold against the wall to the ground and slip off the pack. 

"Was that you?" I whisper. 

"It was Cat," she says, snatching away the shotgun and checking – still loaded. "Give me my belt." 

I find her utility belt in my pack and hand it over – she quickly finds a pocket and pulls out a flask. "Take off the shirts – now – while I'm doing this you can find my ammo." 

I nod, removing my shirts. The cool wind eases as it agitates the cuts and gouge on my back, and I grit my teeth under Crow's gloved touch as she cleans the cuts. 

"What does two barks mean?" I whisper over my shoulder. 




smokeSCREEN: bookONE



"Are you finding ammo?" 

"Yes."

"Two barks is she's trying to give away her location to us – like an SOS. It means she's staying put, but she needs help. She'll repeat the barks at most every thirty but not less than thirteen minutes apart at random, unless she escapes the situation herself. Then she'll give the one-bark. That means we're cool, but pull back to where we last saw each other towards home." 

"Ach – what the fuck is that? A needle?" 

"Yes – shut up – I'm sewing you up." 

"I don't need to be sewn up, I – augh." 

"Be quiet, the thread's already in." 

I can feel it scratching through my flesh. It burns. 

"You got booze?" 

"Smoke this." She hands me a hand-rolled cigarette. "Careful not to cough – only two puffs – it'll help the pain." 

"I know how to smoke a smoke," I say, covering the Bic as I quickly light it. It tastes like smoking a maple leaf, and I do indeed want to cough. 

"Don't cough," she says behind me. 

"Shut up," I say. "I know how to smoke a smoke." I take another puff – it must be some kind of herbal cigarette. "Are you almost done?" 

"How do you feel?" 

"…better." She snatches the smoke from my hands and puts it out, dropping it into a small tin box which she places in one of the pockets on her belt. 

"Turn around – I'm not done," she says, pushing my face away with a gloved hand. 

"Fine – ow. …what does three barks mean?" 

"Three barks means she's fucked – come back later for the body." 

"You always go back for the bodies?" 

"If we don't, one of us dies - Rule Three," she says. "Three barks." The pain really isn't so bad any more. In fact, I feel pretty good. Crow's voice sounds gorgeous. 

"What's Rule Two?" I ask, starting the search for more shotgun shells in my pack. 

"Stay true to your floor." 

I can feel the thread going through my skin, but it doesn't feel all that terrible. 

"Rule One?" 

"Never touch a boy." 

We don't talk much after that. 

* * * 

We make our way around to the west side of the mansion – still no sentries, and no one else has gone to investigate the garage. Crow now moves deftly before me, the shotgun redoubling her confidence. 

Unlike the other girls, Crow, claws and all, is the only one on the floor who wears a skirt. It's plaid – blue and white – and comes to just above her knees. At the back of her thighs are the straps to her kneepads – two black pieces of heavy rubber. She wears a pair of old black leather boots, broken in to the point of being soft as fabric. 

I've been staring. 

I nearly trip over her when she comes to a stop and crouches, but I take a knee at her right and look out over the back yard. 

Here, two old ones are smoking cigars – one of them has an assault rifle – and they're keeping an eye on the large shed, on the other side of the yard. 

"Game plan?" I ask. She strokes the barrel of the shotgun against her forehead in thought. 

"Rush them both – we're faster than they are – they took us by surprise last time." 

"You sure we can get that close with knives?" She shakes her head. 

"Fuck knives – I say a gun in each hand." 

"That would alert the whole lot of them – we need to deal with these two silently." 

"Then we wait a few hours – they'll fall asleep." 

"No they won't." 

"Yours do." 

Two barks – coming from the shed. 

"Okay, so we know where they are…" I begin. 

"We know where Cat is," she corrects. 

Suddenly, the two sentries leap to their feet. Crow and I shrink deeper into the shadows and wait. Soon a tall man wearing a leather mask strides around the far corner of the house and approaches the shed, shouting to the sentries. 

One of them jumps forward and hurries to the shed, opening the door for the man in the leather mask. As the door opens, we can plainly see Lisa, Michelle, Sophie and Cat inside the lit shed. The door stays open for a moment as the tall man walks in, points to Lisa and heaves her up. Quickly, I rip off my pack and pull out a nine millimeter beretta, double-checking that it's loaded. 

"What are you doing?" Crow hisses. I hand her a decent-sized blade. 

"Helping Lisa," I say strapping the staff firmly to my back. "Once the other two leave, slit the guard's throat quickly and release the others – then get to the front yard – I'll find a car." 

The man in the mask and the sentry come out of the shed – Lisa is led behind the two on a chain attached to a collar at her throat. Her legs are free, but her hands are bound at the wrist. 

"What are you doing?" 

"We can't do anything once she's inside that house," I say, and jump up. I leap to the trunk of one of the old elm trees the rich had trucked in and grapple my way up to the first branch. I vault to the second and third, then tiptoe across another to the roof. 

Far on the other side of the yard, they haven't heard me, and the tree only shook enough to suggest some wind. I bend low and slip across the roof as quickly as I can without causing noise on the floor beneath. Soon I'm at the far side, and just as Lisa is led around the corner to the east side of the house, I look to see Crow lunge at the sentry and slit his throat. 

I let out a small bark, and drop the handgun. Lisa looks up – the other's don't. She opens her hands – and from my point of view it resembles a butterfly for a moment – then the heavy steel slides into them. She grips the pistol by it's barrel – flips it and catches it, cocks the hammer, and kills the sentry before her. 

He drops the chain as his body falls, and the man in the mask ducks into the house, slamming the door. Lisa heaves up her chain and runs back for the others. 

Suddenly, there are calls to arms, and screams coming from everywhere. I run to the north side of the house, my boots drumming the roof.

I drop from the third floor to a balcony on the second – then jump to a first floor roof before dropping into the overgrown flower beds and dashing towards an early-2000s model wagon – it looks reliable and fast. 

I tear open the driver's door and, finding no keys, hotwire the engine, peeling around to the back yard. The Floor meets me halfway, and they pile into the wagon just as a wave of old ones pour out of the house. Cat's got her hands on the molatov cocktails, and throws three. Michelle has the assault rifle from the senty, and Crow takes out one of the women before the wagon crashes through the back fence and into the tall grasses beyond. Lisa is just whispering to herself, over and over;

"They were gonna'… they were gonna'…"

I turn on the interior light and open my compass. 

* * * 

For a few minutes, everyone is silent – just catching our breath. 

Then the question of our destination begins. I suggest we navigate by compass for a while – try to end up at the far east of the city. That way, if they try to track us by following our trail through the grass we can loose them as far away from the Tower as possible. 

Everyone thinks this is a good plan, and cigarettes are passed out. 

After twenty minutes of bouncing through the fields we hit an old service road and head further south on it before going east again for a half an hour. 

Sophie and Cat have fallen sleep in the very back of the wagon – Michelle dozes in the back seat. Beside me, Lisa stares silently ahead, while Crow's eyes are fixed on me in the rearview. 

"Maybe you two should sleep," I say. "In another four hours it'll be dawn." 

"I'm not tired," she says, examining the assault rifle for the hundredth time. 

"Are you?" Lisa asks. It takes me a moment to realize she's talking about me. 

"A little," I nod. 

"When was the last time you slept?" she says. 

"Uh… two days ago." 

"Shit – and I got him stoned, too," Crow says. "Pull over, Cypress." Lisa nods. 

"Pull over – I'll drive." 

Cat crawls over the seat to tumble into the driver's side, and I slip in beside Michelle behind her. Lisa guns the engine and we start off again – though as soon as I close my eyes, I'm out. 

* * * 

* * * 

my friend assures me / it's all or nothing / i am not worried / i am not overly concerned / my friend emplored me / make an exception // i am not worried / i am not overly concerned with the status of my emotions // oh, she says / you're changing / but you were always changing

* * * 

* * * 

When I wake up, I'm on a couch in a living room. Crow sits on a leather recliner, staring at the pictures in a magazine. Sophie and Cat lean against each other, silently sleeping on a love seat on the other side of the room. 

"Fuck… how long was I out?" 

"Three hours," Crow says, not looking up. "You woke up when we brought you in." 

"I don't remember that." She glances up for a moment, blinding me with those eyes. 

"If it makes you feel any better, you still look like shit." 

"Then I look how I feel – where are we?" 

"A safehouse just outside the north end – Lisa took us all the way around the perimiter." 

"Where's Lisa and Michelle?" 

"Making breakfast." She's back in the magazine now, but pointing off towards what smells like the kitchen. My boots are beside the couch, and I pull them on before padding past the sleeping twins towards the smell of food. "Cypress," Crow says. I turn, and her huge, cracked-ice eyes are holding me. "We won't forget this – how you did good. You're solid now." I smile. 

"Thanks," I say. 

"Well, I think Sophie might have slept through most of it, but the rest of us are solid," she grins. I nod and go to the kitchen. It must be a gas stove on an independent line. Lisa flips pancakes while Michelle pours over a map at the table, though both have a cigarette between their lips. I lean against a wall and light one for myself, and they both notice me. 

"You should be sleeping," Lisa says quickly. 

"Shouldn't you?" I ask. 

"Go sleep, Beta!" she barks at me. 

"Are you fryin' up some apples with that or what?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"Well," I count on my fingers, "you got pancake mix, I've eaten apples with you, and I'm sure there's cinnamon and sugar around here somewhere, right?" 

"I… think so…" 

I step off the wall and come forward. 

"Well, whip out another pan, let's get some apple cinnamon flapjacks going." 

"We don't have time for apple-cinnamon anything," she says, guarding the stove with her spatula, but smiling. "We were supposed to be back at the tower an hour ago." 

"No, we'll stay here tonight," Michelle says, still not looking up from her map. 

"We can't, Phoebe-" 

"We were captured – hello?" She finally looks up from the map. "That's like a leave of absence until we magically escape and decide to show up again. Fuck, maybe we shouldn't even go back – we finally have a car, Lis! Us – Unlucky Thirteen finally has a car. We could leave the Tower." 

Lisa is silent, but not surprised. Perhaps this is an old plan of thiers. Finally, Lisa shakes her head no. 

"No, we have to go back," she says. I nod. 

"What – you agree with her?" Michelle snaps at me. 

"You have to tell the others about the old ones," I shrug. "You have to. I mean, they didn't just grab us, they captured you guys with some purpose." 

Lisa nods. 

"They were gonna'… eat us or do something, Michelle, I'm sure of it." 

"And what's with that shit all over their faces?" I ask. "It's like they all slipped and skinned everything."

"Maybe they've got it," Lisa says suddenly, looking at Michelle wide-eyed. "Maybe – did you see the men and women together? Maybe they've all got the disease!"

"I don't think that's it," I say. 

"It's something else, Lis." Michelle flips a pancake onto a plate. 

"Who's hungry?" she barks to the living room. Crow pads in, peeking her head around the corner and curiously smiling at the pancake. 

"Ah ah," I say, taking it from Lisa. "Don't waste your stomach on this – wait 'till you taste mine." 

"Why?" Crow narrows her eyes, pointing a finger at me and looking to Michelle. "What's he doing?" Michelle shugs and looks back to the map. 

"Cooking, I guess."

"Like Hell he is," Lisa snaps, grabbing the pancake away. Michelle looks up and sighs. 

"Lisa, Crow, you guys make sure the bedrooms are set for tonight – windows are all blocked up, everything." Lisa gapes.

"We don't have time for another batch," she says. 

"Lisa – I'm telling you – we spend the night here – got to have a Floor meeting, and it can't be in the Tower." 

Crow does a tiny jump and grins. "Floor meeting! Can I find the candles? I'll find some old candelabras – we'll do the mantle on the fireplace and-" 

"First the windows, then the candles." 

"And smokes – we're running low," I say as I start frying an apple. Crow looks up. 

"Do you even know what a Floor meeting is?" she asks. 

"No, but I suppose I will by tonight. Now tell me honestly," I say, turning and giving her a scruitinizing look. "Do you have a sweet tooth, or a sweet-sweet tooth?" 

Crow rolls her glittering eyes and pulls Lisa away.

I throw in extra sugar. 

* * * 

Just before noon, Crow returns, her packy heavy with choice food and items from scavenged houses nearby. She's exhausted and overheated, and she wipes sweat from her brow as she drops her pack in the centre of the living room and without looking, plops onto the couch. While the others finish eating their pancakes in the kitchen, I walk in and sit beside her, handing her a plate with apple-cinnamon pancakes. 

"Find smokes?" I ask. She nods – but she looks like she's about to pass out. 

"Is it good?" she says, finally noticing the pancakes. 

"I dunno – I haven't tried it." 

"I'm really… …are you really tired?" 

"So tired." 

"Let's try it on three," she says. I nod. We both prepare a piece of pancake. "One, two, three," she says. I take my bite and set the plate down – it is pretty good – but I'm tired. 

I close my eyes, and I can hear Crow say, 

"Better than Lisa's…" 

Then I feel her gentle weight collapse against me, and her breathing becomes deep and steady. 

I think I hear Lisa asking if we should move Crow. 

Michelle tells her it's okay – we'll talk about it tonight. 

* * * 

When Michelle finally shakes me awake it's dark outside and candles burn throughout the living room. I've never seen a room so brightly lit by candles – Crow must have found over two hundred. Michelle leaves to get Lisa, and I become aware of my surroundings. 

As I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes, I notice Crow doing the same beside me. She gives me a quick glance and slides over a half-foot on the couch, finding her cigarettes. 

I do the same, and most of us are happily puffing by the time Michelle comes in with Lisa. 

"Are you sure?" Lisa says for the third time. 

"I'll show you all – would you come on?" Michelle walks in and stares at us expectantly. "Let's go. Not you, Cypress, you wait outside. We'll grab you in a minute." she says. Sophie, Cat and Crow all slip to the floor. Crow leans back against the couch – Sophie and Cat cross their legs. 

I go out onto the front step and light a cigarette. 

I've smokes two more by the time Sophie calls me in. When I come back into the living room, everyone is staring at me, and Michelle is standing in the centre of the room. 

"Come here, Cypress," she says. "We're going to show them." 

I nod, step into the circle and Lisa closes her eyes. The others just stare. I reach up and press my hand to Michelle's cheek. Lisa slowly lowers her hands. 

"You've done this before?" she exclaims. 

"Back at the Tower, yesterday morning," I say. But now the thrall of it has me – I want to touch her hair – her throat – her-

I draw my hand back. 

"And you feel fine?" Lisa says. 

"Perfect," Michelle says, slipping back to her place. "And so does he. Whatever they told us about a disease – it was all bullshit." 

"Can I-?" Cat suddenly says. Michelle shrugs, and I sit down between Crow and Lisa. 

"It's not a health risk, that's all I'm saying." In a flash, Cat is at my side. Crow edges a bit away to make room, and the blond raises a shaking hand to my face. I don't stop her, and she gently draws her fingers across my forehead to my cheekbone, then to my chin. She gasps, and seems to well up. 

My heart is pounding again, and I reposition my legs, hiding the bulge in my pants. 

"How do you feel?" Sophie says from under her touque. 

"You have to try this!" Cat says, reaching with her other hand for my hair and feeling it – stroking it. 

Lisa and Sophie come over and have their turn touching me. Neither wants to stop, but Michelle instructs everyone to pull back, and the meeting moves forward. Crow hasn't looked at me since Michelle's skin touched mine. 

"This is something that's true," Michelle says. "There is no disease. Not any more. Maybe there was, but we never had it and neither did they." 

"But… what about the girls who did touch guys and died that day?" 

"Jackie," Crow says. "Jackie must have killed them…" She still hasn't looked at me. 

"Well, now we know for a fact that it's safe to have the Swordsman here around. That brings us to point number two. …Lisa?" 

Lisa nods, and says, 

"If you want to… escape, now, on foot – you can. We won't shoot you." 

I lean back into the couch and light another smoke. Crow looks at me – too quickly for me to guess her emotion – and looks away. 

"What's point three?" I ask. 

"That we'd like you to stay," Crow says. She wipes something from her face, and I look to Michelle, who nods. Everyone is silent. 

"…even Lisa," Michelle says. Everyone has a little laugh, but I stand. Michelle nods. "Okay," she says. Crow stands and goes into the kitchen. Sophie goes to check on her, and Michelle sees me to the door. 

"Mind if I take some time to think about it?" I ask. I guess she thought my mind had been made up, because she smiles a little too much when she nods. 

"But the meeting's not over – we might be leaving the city…" 

"Finish without me – if I stay I'll stick with the group's decision, but if my vote counts, you have to at least go warn the others… not to mention Anze." I open the door and step onto the front porch. 

"Aw, right, Anze…" Michelle says behind me. She closes the screen door and I breathe the fresh air, sitting and leaning against the steps. I look up at the stars – just starting to see the hints of Orion on the horizon. 

Decisions, decisions. 

* * * 

I open the front door later that night to find Lisa waiting up with a pair of binoculars and the assault rifle. She smiles at me and sets the binoculars down as I walk up. 

"Staying, then?" I nod. "Do you know Rule Two?" 

"Stay true to your floor." She smiles. 

"Alright – what was your rank back at Weswtood?" 

"I guess you'd call me a Beta," I say. 

"What did you do for them?" 

"I spied on you guys." She narrows her eyes at me. 

"Were… were you the one who blew up our police cruiser?" 

I nod. 

"Alright, if anyone asks, you're a Beta Sneak – that's your rank and job." 

I nod. 

"Cypress," she says, "can I…?" I walk over and bend down, and she raises her hand to my face, closing her eyes. Her touch sparks waves of tingles flashing through my body. I reach up and let my fingers run down her cheek – over her lips – down her throat. She gasps and falls back, catching her breath. Simple touch. "It's amazing," she says. I nod, standing up. 

"Are we going back to the Tower tomorrow?" I ask. 

"Yes." 

"Good," I say, picking up the staff and heading for the stairs. "Which room is mine?" 

"At the end of the hall – Crow's sleeping there." 

"Oh. Perhaps the couch, then…" 

"Wake her up – she wants to know if you're staying or not." 

I smile. 

"Did she say that?" I ask. Lisa shakes her head. 

"Of course not." 

* * * 

With a gentle click, I open the door at the end of the hall. A single candle throws a half-light across the room – a dim palettes in gray fleshtones and black. Crow's sleeping form rests on the bed, above the covers. The swell of her hips and the gentle pattern of her skirt in the dark stir something, but I don't know what it is. I sit next to her on the bed and gently poke her shoulder. 




smokeSCREEN: bookONE



"Ow!" The barrels of her shotgun press hard aginst my nose. I push itaway from my face, and she wipes sleep from her eyes. 

"Sorry! Sorry… force of habit… I do a lot of field work," she says, tucking the firearm back under the covers. We sort of laugh, and now it's just Crow and I in the half-light, staring at each other. Her eyes, still cracked-sapphire blue, aren't cold. Just pale. Shining. 

"Did you come to say goodbye?" she asks finally. I smile. 

"Back in Westwood? We don't have floors. It's just us – we're alone." 

"That must be rough," she says, turning on her side and looking up at me. 

"Well, everything's rough," I say. She smiles. "But… it's not so bad. With you guys, I mean. It's cool to…" 

"Trust someone?" she finishes. I cross my legs under me and lean down to her. 

"Well, I don't know about trust, you said you'd kill me to escape Westwood." 

"That was a long time ago," she says. I can feel her breath on my face. 

"It was last night." 

She sits up now, and I lean back so we're sitting erect and facing. 

"Sort of a lot's happened since then," she says. 

We stare at each other for a long time. 

I want to kiss her, though I don't know why. Not that I've ever kissed a woman, but I almost feel sick with it. 

I'd read about moments like this in books – I always took them with a grain of salt, as it's the popular belief that it was a disease transmitted through contact that wiped everyone out. 

Her lips are a perfect, soft pink. I realize I'm staring, and my eyes rise to find hers, staring down at my face. She looks up to me, but doesn't smile. 

"Tell me you're staying," she says. 

"I'm staying." 

"None of us know what to think any more. You changed everything." 

"Nothing's different," I say. "Nothing's changed – just us." 

"I guess so." She stares at me long and hard, like she's working things out. "Did you like it? When the others touched you?" I nod. "It really doesn't hurt?" 

I hold up a bare hand, and she starts, then relaxes, nodding. She raises her hand and brings her fingertips inches from mine, then pauses. 

"Fuck it," she says, grabbing me by my shirt and throwing me down on the bed. She climbs on top of me and lays down – her cheek resting against mine. "…whoah…" she whispers. Her fingers caress my face, and her breath quickens. "I can… it…" She leans back and stars down at me. "It really doesn't hurt." Her hands roam my face and throat, even scratching through my hair – my own hand cups her cheek, stroking her face and lips. 

"It's…" 

"It's amazing," she gasps. She seems to fall forward, but stops an inch from my face – her breath is hot on my lips, and she's just staring at me. "Is this alright?"

I don't answer, I just lift my head slightly as she lets hers fall. Our lips meet… and stroke… waves of sensation crash through me – her hair on my face – her hand gripping mine – the soft, sweet smell of her skin – and her lips. 

I feel, in this moment, that perhaps I could die, and be perfectly content with it. I am lost in her smell – the feel of her lips caressing mine – her small hands holding me to her. She leans back, eyes half-open, lips still moving slightly, and breathing deep. 

"I didn't like it when the others touched you," she says. "I wanted to… I wished I could have…" My hand strokes her cheek, and she melts into it, sighing. She flops down, her weight pressing warmly down on me, and my arms instinctively wrap around her. "What is this?" she asks. 

"What's what?" 

"This," she points to the bulge at my crotch.

"Oh. That just… happens. It's normal." 

"But you're staying?" 

"Yes." 

"Will you stay here tonight? I mean, you don't have to, but-" 

I gently pull her head down to rest on my shoulder, and she takes a long, satisfied breath. 

We lay silently for a long time – her head at my shoulders, our fingers gently stroking, until she finally says, half-asleep;

"Cypress." 

She mumbles the rest, but I sleep well. 

* * * 
* * *