0 comments/ 26811 views/ 5 favorites smokeSCREEN : bookFOUR By: Riven___Caulfield smokeSCREEN bookFOUR : THEbecoming * Note from the Author: bookFOUR is running long, and so I've broken it into large segments. I had planned to submit them all at once, but that plan's gang a'gley. [knocks on metal] I know this is going to give me a continuity nightmare, but here goes. I hope you enjoy it. Yours, -Caulfield * part i : assaults * * * * * * manic depression is / torching my soul / i know what i want but i / just don't know / how to go about getting it // feeling, sweet feeling / drops from my fingers, fingers / manic depression // has captured my soul. * * * * * * I didn't dream last night. I'm smiling as I walk along. The first few days after I met Cat, I didn't dream once. As the weeks wore on and I moved to the Tower, it seemed more and more curious to me. That they would just stop. But they've stopped and stayed away – so I'm smiling as I walk along. Prior to the end of the world, the forest was confined to Assiniboine – the center of the city, branching out from the park. Sure, every suburb was lined with elm trees, but the rest of it was all paved. Prior to the war, of course. Everything's like that in your head; You lived two lives. One before the war. And this one. And who you are now is not what you hoped you'd be. I sigh. But I'm twenty. You're supposed to have an identity crisis around now – right? Just like our big scar of a city. Sometimes I swear to God it's a city but nothing but. Prior to the end of the world, I woulda' swore to it. But now it's more forest than anything. The thick trees stretch from downtown, through Wolosley, parts of the West End, all of Assiniboine, half of Charleswood, most of Saint James, half of Weswtood. As I crunch through the few leaves that have been bold enough to fall this early, I suddenly wonder if it's best to travel through the forest. Sure, it's less visible, but… I mantle up a tree and lean out, peering at the dark horizon. A good ninety minutes until sunrise, yet. I drop to the ground and proceed for a while – and I think of Crow. I stop. Should I start calling her Beth? Beth – Crow – wants me to lead us. All of us, I think. The men of Westwood, the women of the Tower, living happily together. Pfft – I don't think so. I light a cigarette. One lie less thirteen years ago, and all of this could have been averted. All of this. It occurs to me as I walk, that this is the first time I've been on my own in a long time. Perhaps I've become dependent on the close companionship offered by Tower society. Less reliant on myself. My brow creases. Phoebe's had me stuck indoors, behind a desk for two goddamn weeks. Weeks I could have spent with my Floor. The leaders, always becoming twisted by power, always leading astray. I push Phoebe out of my head and turn to brighter thoughts. I wonder if Sophie's wearing my discman right now. If she's got one earphone hanging loosely as she walks beside Cat. Cat, who is following Crow, who is following Lisa and Michelle. And yeah, I miss them. I wouldn't mind glancing south to discover Michelle, grinning back at me from behind an elm tree. Maybe I am getting soft. Long while till sunrise, yet. Crow should have gotten back to the Tower a few minutes ago. She'll be on her way to the Forks by now with the others. Frankly, once the Forks are taken, Floor Thirteen will have a pretty cushy assignment for a while. If I make it back from the old ones' assault on Westwood, I'll be more than happy to join them. If. * * * "In the cool of the evenin', when everything is getting' kinda' groo-veyyy…. I call you up and ask you, would you like to go with me and see a mooo-veyyyy…first you say no, you got some plans for tonight, and then you stop. And say alll-ri-hiiight…" I like to think I have a decent singing voice. I carry the tune as I mantle up the nearest tree and squint east. "Life is kinda' crazy with a spooky little girl like you…." Sun'll be up soon. I plop to the ground and head north. I should have left earlier. I'm missing my discman, now. I'm missing everything about being back at the Tower. I light a smoke. Shit. I'm running low on smokes. I stop and remember what I'm doing here. In my recently discovered weakness of character, I leaked key Westwood secrets to the leader of the Tower, who subsequently gave an army of radiation-soaked old ones from the States all they need to bring down my old crew at Westwood Right. I start up a light jog. Sun'll be up soon. Westwood's not gonna' fall on account of my weakness of character. But now I skid to a halt. I sniff the air. I look to my cigarette. I stomp it out and continue my jog north. And now I skid to a halt. I sniff the air. I mantle up the nearest tree and stare west. "Fffffuck..." I scan the horizon. The whole horizon. "….me." I smack into the forest floor and start up a mad dash as that sharp-dry smell of smoke rises to more than a hint. I'll get out somehow. * * * * * * woke up this morning / all that love had gone / your papa never told you about right and wrong /but you're // one in a million // 'cause you got that / shotgun shine / born under a bad sign / you got a blue moon in your eye * * * * * * Getting out of a city-wide, burning forest from the very center is harder than it sounds. For one – I'm primarily special ops – I'm never running around in the woods with the grunts. For two – the place is very quickly becoming nothing but a big grey blur. In my mad dash, I've fallen twice and only just now coughed up, I believe, half a lung. The left one. I am going north. I'm sure of that – I can still make out the glow of sunrise through the thinning trees. So much fucking smoke… I can pass out later. Just run. …shit. Where's the sun again? I can't see anythng. But out of the mists come a dog. A wolf – huge and black. Nearby flames dance in its eyes as it says; RUN Ow. …that hurt. GET UP, the wolf tells me. And I'm so tired… The wolf is barking now. run or you'll die, Om we have to live run now I can pass out later. I'm not dashing – more stumbling. But I'm almost there the trees are thinning – and now there is nothing. Nothing. I'm falling into space. But the air is fresh. I'm tumbling. And in a mighty splash of freezing water, I am jolted awake. The Red is a very fast river – best to catch my breath and just move on. I check the staff – still strapped to my back – and proceed to swim across the river to the north bank, taking it slow – getting my breath back. Unfortunately, it sweeps me five hundred or so yards back east, and by the time I get to the other side I'm quite prepared to pass out again. As I lay on the north bank, staring up at the looming veil of smoke that whips overhead, I realize the futility of defending Westwood – the entire city will be dark as midnight in two hours, at this rate. Westwood is in the middle of this forest – and they're burning it all. They're destroying our forest. They're destroying our city. Even if those poor souls inside Westwood manage to survive the smoke and heat that close to the fire – the artificial night provided by the smoke, and the limited battery power of the spotlights spell one thing – Westwood will fall by midnight tonight. I'll get there around noon – I'm going further north to get away from the heat. I hear shouts from deep in the forest. Now the flames are washing across the dry trees like waves on a floating ocean. Westwood, Tower or old, they're not getting out alive. A lonesome howl sounds out above the deafening crackle of trees and dry leaves. * * * "When one is making an omlette, one must break a few eggs." My armband serves as a satisyfing mask, but my sunglasses do a mediocre job of keeping the smoke out my eyes. I should have goggles. "But twelve men, Brie…" "Eight men," the woman sharply corrects. "Four women." "You risk too much." "I'll decide what's too much. Westwood is the first step, Mickey. They're ripe." Kneeling outside this particular window in west Saint James, I discovered I was actually listening to a conversation between two old ones. From the sounds of it, two important ones. Perhaps I could strike a fatal blow, here and now. "Is the gatling gun ready?" "Yeah, I got it right here…" Perhaps not. "Are you sure you can carry it without tiring too quickly?" "Don't worry about me – just make sure you're back at the camp before the attack." "I'll be there by ten." "The attack starts at nine." "My counsel may be required – I'll attend the opening minutes," Brie says firmly. I still haven't dared look, to match a face to the name. "No," Mickey starts, but a resounding slap echoes off the walls. "Pardon me," he says now. "I'll make sure the hearse is fully prepared." "Good – and make sure the wagons are set on Portage – I'll have no mistakes." Attack at nine. Wagons on Portage. Attack at nine. Wagons on Portage. Got it. I dash off into the smoke towards Westwood. Perhaps I can still make it by nightfall. * * * Once I'm past the Moray bridge, the breathing is easier and the smoke has begun to clear. I consider that the fire may spread to the old one's precious South End, but from this distance I realize what they've done – they've destroyed the only unihabited strip of the city. The rivers come in from the west and southwest and meet at the Forks downtown, south of the Tower. The smoke has blackened the sky, but Westwood has not been touched by the fire. The attack will come at nine. * * * Strolling up to Westwood, I've seen no sentries. No guard patrols. The sky is still dark, but breathing is not uncomfortable. Not a sniff of the old ones. It's only eight-thirty. I still have time to warn them. The gates are locked, and no one is attending them. I stroll around the length of the walls before finally just climbing a nearby elm tree and dropping onto the battlement. Everything is still as the dead. Westwood is tidied, and clean, and empty. I drop down to the courtyard and run up to the school doors. They're locked, but I break them open and proceed straight to the band room. "Jessie! Guys?" What the fuck? Scanning the band room, all I find is a bar stool with a tape recorder. Pressing play, the message I hear is this; Greetings, dirty-ass bitch, or loyal Westwood solider. If you're hearing this, we have gone to plan B. And whatever you did to drive us out, sluts, we will revisit upon you ten- I smash it under my boot. I smash it again. Again. Again. Again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The backup bike… the backup bike… I explode throught he band room doors and race down the hall, whipping around a corner and skidding past the gym. Doubling back, I barrel across the hardwood floors and into the storeroom, tripping on the doorframe as I do. Thank God they didn't take it. * * * I grip the handles and roll the superbike out the service doors and down onto the sidewalk just inside the courtyard walls. Rolling it up to the parking lot, I can hear the old ones approaching. Why hadn't Westwood at least tried to fight? I wasn't expecting to be taking on the entire old one army alone, but I'm needed at the Forks. The old ones can just wait. Rolling the bike silently to the back of the parking lot, I check my watch – one to nine. I start the bike. I'm a hundred yards from the gates – and even that seems too close. Something very loud is rolling up now – I can't imagine what it could be. At least, I've never heard anything like it. I check my watch. Nine. I light a smoke. Nine-o-one. Some voices. Nine-o-two. That very loud thing is rolling again. I lean forward on the handlebars of the Dukati and narrow my eyes at the gate. In what is more a shockwave of auditory information than, per se, a sound, the gate is blown from its hinges. Five tons of welded steel rockets from the outer wall, spinning towards me. I have time enough to pull a stupid-looking face just in before it screams over head, and tears the top off an elm tree. As the smoke at the empty space where the gates once stood clears, I'm treated to the source of the unusual noise. My head begins running what I call "potentials". Potential routes of escape are X-ed out in my head. X. X. X. X. X. What if…? X… With all the doors locked and a forty-ton tank in the front gate, my options have become somewhat limited. I'll give the old ones this – they do have the capacity for original thought and effective execution. The tank rumbles forward a few feet, but the cannon does not retrain its sights. Behind this tyrannosaur of steel are at least ten other vehicles of various more conventional design, and at least sixy old ones accopanying. My brow creases. There's no way I came out here for nothing, only to be killed. "Fuck that!" I bark across the parking lot. The tank opens, and the man with the leather mask rises out. He pulls up a megaphone and calls into it; "Repeat your last statement, or be fired upon." Hm. It's Mickey – the poor whipped bastard. "Why?" I yell. "Did you not get it?" "No," the voice booms across the compound. "I said – FUCK. THAT!!! You're coming in here with a TANK!! Are you INSANE?!" Mickey drops his megaphone and calls behind him. It's not really audible from this distance, but the megaphone still picks some of it up. "…would someone go kill that little shit?" Oh, thank God. That's right boys, come for me one on one. I gun the engine and rip through the parking lot, into the front doors and deep into the school, parking it in a stairwell at the rear of the building for quick access later. I dash to the basement and hit the breakers. Most of these fuckers only have one eye, anyway. If they want me, they'll have to come in. Tight, enclosed spaces. I can do this. * * * * * * i beat my machine / it's a part of me / it's inside of me // i'm stuck in this dream / it's changing me / i am becoming the me that you know // he had some second thoughts // he's covered with scabs // he is broken and sore // the me that you know he // doesn't come around much // that part of me isn't here anymore * * * * * * I can hear muffled, distant voices – they're a good distance away, still. Outside probably. I have to think ahead. I have to plan ahead. What do I need? What will I need? I sneak through the upper hallway, pressing to the walls. Most of the windows are blocked up, but someone could still see me breaking a shadow somewhere. Locker 329… 330… 331… Footsteps behind me. He's big. And he's running. I don't turn yet. 332… Ah. 333. As I move to grab the locker, I turn my profile to him. Only about ten feet away, and coming fast. I hate to make the noise, but I open the locker door into his face. It crashes into the bridge of his nose, ribcage and yes, I think groin, and is far too loud. He sputters and begins to fall back, but it's too late – I've already slashed him from groin to sternum, and he's now finding it very hard to breath – his lungs have collapsed. I snatch a particular plastic baggie out of the locker, along with two old SOCOM pistols with silencers and about four clips. I peer into one tiny drawer. No. Then another. And another. Who took my key? Shit. More footsteps. The sound of someone drawing up a large-calibre firearm. A rifle of some sort. I quickly spin and pull up a SOCOM. He fires first – a round that clips my torso as I dodge away from the lockers. I narrow my eyes and squeeze off two rounds – both hit him cleanly in the chest, just up and to the left. He dies more slowly – sputtering for life as I quickly return to my search. I remind myself to be systematic as I peer into the dark locker, gripping the wound at my side. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. Two rounds from the SOCOM – another old one falls on top of his rifleman friend down the hall. No. No. Nononononono. No. No. FUCK. I think for a moment, dip two fingers under the laces of my boot, and remove a small silver key. Goddamnit. I head for a particularly dark stairwell. Pressing myself into the deepest shadow I can find, I pull out the plastic baggie and open it, licking the tip of my pinkie. I dip my pinkie into the bag and encrust it with powder, close the bag, close my eyes, and slip the pinkie under my tongue. It's been too long. It's too intense. It's way too intense. It's not safe. I begin shaking. Spasming. I may be making noise, but I'm not aware of it. My heart is screaming, thrashing against my ribcage. It hurts. It really hurts. I'm going to die. I can't see. I can't see anything. I can't hear anything. But it hurts. It's killing me. I've accomplished nothing. And now it's less. And now it's less. And I can control my breathing. And it's okay. And I'm okay. It's all okay. It's all okay. My system just isn't used to it after all those weeks at the Tower. But I'm okay. It's okay. I stand and pull out the sword – footsteps. From where? My hearing is still bunged up. It's a woman, bounding down the stairs. She points an uzi at me, but I take her hand at the wrist and whip up a SOCOM, putting a bullet through her eye into the brick wall behind her. First her shoulders hang loose, then the eyes roll back in her head. The mouth gapes slack, and the shell gives up on effort as gravity does the rest. Hm. An uzi. …no. Down to the basement floor. Absolute darkness. Unless… "Dick – turn on your flashlight." Fuuuuck. This isn't getting any better. I kneel and peek my head around the corner – it looks like they came in the same way I did, and now they're checking in the opposite direction. I quickly get rid of my boots. It's two of them – slinking through a concrete section of hallway that's about four feet wide. "Dick – stop." Dick's the one in the white undershirt with the two uzis. He whips around and pulls up his flashlight, but I'm pressed into a doorway. This won't work at all. I look up. They're coming up to the generator. It's still running – I think they're looking for the breakers. The generator's pretty loud. This will do. "Find the panel," the one who isn't Dick says. He turns the corner and I drop from the overhead pipes, drawing up the sword. As Dick turns I keep the sword at his throat and rush in to grab him by the shoulder. The other one bangs around in the power room, searching obvlivious. Dick opens his mouth to call out, but the tip of the blade peirces his throat, slips through his windpipe and just misses completely breaching a section of neckbone. And Dick discovers he cannot call out. He cannot breathe. And things are growing dark. Holding him up by the steel lodged in his neck, I draw him back into the shadows with me. "Dick! Where the fuck are you?" The other one whips around the corner and stares into the blackness. "If you're gonna' be a lazy ass, at least go tell Brie he's already killed one of us! This ain't worth it, man." And he stares into the blackness. "Dick? Stop fuckin' around." Hm. He's scared – he'll react quicker. Leaning out of the overhead pipes, I grip the sword. I swing the blade down and it slices half his skull cleanly off. He takes another half-step, twitches and falls. I hit the ground behind him, snatch up his flashlight and run back to the boiler room. Holding the flashlight in my mouth, I slip the small siver key long forgotten from my boot into the iron locker. It sits, unsuspicious, at the very back of the uncomfortably warm boiler room. Repaired, the circuits retested every two seasons, the small door swings open to reveal the failsafe panel. I punch in the seven-digit code; 222-2222. Jessie never was particularly imaginative – it's the phone number of his favorite pizza place from when we were kids. smokeSCREEN : bookFOUR My mouth is suddenly dry. This is a big descision. My fingers hop on the keypad. One. Zero. Zero. Zero. Ten minutes. Execute? It flashes at me. Execute? Execute? I hit the green button, and somewhere in my head, the wolf is growling at me; Execute them all. * * * They should be spread out enough now for me to make a decent escape. As I whip up the stairwell I grab my boots and hop into them, making sure they're secure before I peek around the first-floor stairwell. One… two… three. I'll need to use the SOCOM on the third, and least. Too far away. Hm. The second one's got a rifle… Most likely get killed doing this. Fancy swordplay involved – but if I don't get to that bike I'm fucked regardless. Fancy swordplay. I close my eyes and remember. "Hallo!" I burst from the stairwell and leap forward, stabbing the sword quickly into the chest of the first. "My name is Inigo Montoya!" The blade slips easily out as I swing the blade across, severing the second one's shoulders from his torso. "You keel my fathah!" Before the rifle drops I grab it and whip around, raising the old gun to the old one at the end of the hall and squinting through the scope. "Prepare to DIE!" He's only just now turning around. BWROMMMMM… The rifle blast is deafening, amplified by the metal lockers. It may sound pretty stupid, but Inigo Montoya was always what I thought about when my dad started teaching me swordplay. Inigo Montoya knew his swordplay. It was all he lived for. To study it – perfect it – and exact vengeance on his father's murderer. I sheath the sword and dash with the rifle down the hall. A woman bursts around the corner, screaming wildly. She slashes at me with a custom-serrated butcher knife. "Augh!" The quarter-inch teeth rip open my left arm. I whip up the butt of the rifle and it catches her under the chin. It cracks down off her jaw to swing into my hand as I raise it to my shoulder. I pull the trigger and she flies back into the stairwell. It's time to make my escape – but I won't get far if they have snipers on the roof. Best to clear out the roof. I run into the stairwell where I parked the Dukati and gun the engine. * * * * * * he comes alive / when the sun goes down / he gets it right / you know he's always down / he's got / one eye open and his ear to the ground / and he's / too cool for school * * * * * * In an echoing boom, the Dukati bursts through the heavy metal access door on the school roof. I whip the rifle up. There are two that I can see – and only one of them has noticed me. I hate using guns. CHI-KA-BOOM. Though I was a sniper for several years. The first one drops – the second turns. Long years. I squint and squeeze the trigger. CHI-KA- I didn't particularly enjoy it. I just kinda' had a knack for it – y'know? BOOM. Her head flies back and she collapses, empty, on the old tarpaper. Spinning, I have one eye at the scope as I strafe around the corner. BOOM. I peck off a third as he comes into sight from behind the roof access. I quickly walk sideways around the next corner. BOOM. The fourth falls. There shouldn't be a fifth… BOOM. That should be enough for a decent escape. I drop the rifle at my feet and dash back to the bike. How long has it been? Couldn't have been more than five minutes. Best to not chance it. I shut off the bike and press my ear to the roof access door. They're coming up the stairs – two flights down. Hm. I need the bike, and it wouldn't survive a jump from the roof. Or at least I'm not prepared to risk it. I'll just drive over them. * * * "THERE HE IS!" someone roars. There are at least thirty or so old ones out here on the field. As I whip the bike around the north side of the school, turning onto the parking lot. I'm presented with at least another twelve. Some people are shooting. No one's hit me – I don't think. They've moved the tank, and several cars are now in the parking lot. Including a convertible, carrying a dangerously slim platinum-blonde who's shouting into a radio. Brie, I presume. Let's do some damage to the cause. Shoving the staff under my utility belt I yank out the blade, kneeling forward and squinting at the floodlights they've got on their cars. The Dukati blasts forward, and now she sees me. Sixty yards. Now she's looking for something on the car seat. Forty yards. Now she's found it – but she's still watching me. Twenty yards. Now she pulls up an AK-47, and I whip the sword around in one huge arc, leaning in to her car as she leans back. For a moment – a split second – as the blade passes between us – as it's severing her wrist – missing her throat – she and I are in the same place. We are sharing something. Our eyes are the only thing that can be accurately remembered. If she is in pain, she does not show it. She is preoccupied with something else. She is preoccupied with me. And as I pass, I find that for a moment I'm preoccupied with her. So preoccupied I crash the bike over the hood of a parked car. I shoot across the hood and roll to a stop thirty feet away. "STOP!" someone shouts. Or at least I think they do. Fuck, that hurt. Got to get up. "WOULD SOMEONE FUCKING GRAB HIM?!" My vision finally clears to reveal the dim scene – made artificial night by the jagged scar of smoke that hangs over the city. At least forty old ones approaching, all with guns. Where's the bike? No time to go back. "He's getting up!" "Shoot him in the leg!" BOOM. Ow. Evil shot. So running's out. I'll have to go back and hope for the best. I raise my hands. "I surrender!" "Damn right you do!" Brie shouts back at me. "Drop your guns!" Someone's already wrapping her stump. I drop the guns and take a limping step forward, my hands on the back of my head, near the sword. I begin to limp back towards Brie. Back towads the bike. "Who are you?" she says, narrowing her eyes. "We haven't seen you." "Why would you?" I ask. "Because we've been watching westwood closely for eight weeks," Brie says. Eight weeks? …that doesn't add up. "He said his name was Inigo Montoya," one of them says. "He got at least ten of us." I roll my eyes, but keep limping forward. "Just… just who the fuck do you think you are, you little shit?" "I remember him," one of them says. A particularly old old one with a patch on one eye and only three-quarters of his original share of arms. "He was there with the five girls they sent us. He killed one of us and helped the others escape." "Ahhhhhh so this is the swordsman," she says, looking from me to the roof. "Swordsman, sniper, headstrong, mystery. What else do you do?" "I build bombs," I say. I'm five feet from the bike. But Brie may be smarter than I'd hoped. She peers at me suspiciously for a moment, and screaming, banshee-style; "Get them out of the- Just then, the walls of Westwood swell out as if it was trying to quickly inflate, only to explode in a shockwave of heat and glass. I'm already on the bike, and it's already pulling around the car. The wave of fire has subsided. I'm already through the gate. My arm and leg haven't stopped bleeding - I'll get to the Forks in fiften minutes on this thing. In the attack, I'd almost forgotten the Forks. I can make it seven. * * * * * * i / hurt myself today / to see if i still feel / i focus on the pain / the only thing that's real / the needle tears a hole / the old familiar sting / try to kill it all away / but i remember everything // what have i become? / my sweetest friend / everyone i know goes away // in the end /// you could have it all /// my empire of dirt /// i will let you down /// i will make you hurt * * * * * * The Dukati whips under the tunnel and out onto the square mile of free customer parking. Shots are being fired. I rip into the main parking lot and between the Forks Market and the Johnston Terminal buildings, stopping directly in the crossfire. The guns are still blazing. Looking towards the Market building, five Weswtood members are down. Looking towards the Terminal, over nine Tower members are standing but three have fallen. "CEACE FIRE!!" I howl. Bullets are whipping past me. One takes a chunk out of my sweater. I've become more courageous around gunfire today. "Get out of the fucking way!" "STOP. SHOOTING. EVERYONE!" I scream. The sound dies down. Fewer shots. Now, none. "Everyone, just calm the fuck down!" I hear someone coming towards me from the Market building. I turn just in time to see Dustin raise a shooter to my head. I yell out and tumble back off the bike, swinging out blindly with my sword. As Dustin leans back he raises his arms in defense. And really, this is what kills him. If he hadn't pulled his arms up, I only would have slashed his jaw open from ear to ear, and not severed both hands just below the elbow. At it happened, Dustin bled to death in seconds as I limp-scrambled over to the Terminal, a hail of bullets following me. Shit. Dustin was a bit of a dick, but… oh shit. I tumble behind a brick wall and press myself to the other side. A Beta named Diane is crouched against the wall beside me. When she sets eyes on me, she immediately stands to attention. "Cypress!" she says, bowing her head to me. "Megaphone," I say. "Who's got the megaphone?" "Lisa," Diane says. "Well where's Lisa?" "Inside with Floor Thirteen – it's their shift to sleep." "HEY!!! STOP SHOOTING!!!" A few stop. Most don't. "STOP. SHOOTING!!! We're all just wasting bullets." That stops thems. I lean my head out, hands up. "Cypress!" Diane hisses at me. "Is Jessie there?" I call across the lot. "Speaking," he says calmly into a megaphone. I hate yelling. "Jessie – no one has to die on either side. I'll figure out what I can here, then come over at sunrise and tell you what's up – cool?" "Cypress, no-" "Cool," Jessie's amplified voice booms back. "See you tomorrow, bro." I hate it when he calls me 'bro'. I look back to Diane. "Where's my Floor?" "On break. Straight on back to the right, Sir." I cock an eyebrow but say nothing, limp-hopping down to where the Old Spaghetti House was. Pushing through the doors, there is a stunned silence as they look up from their table of beer bottles. Michelle pulls her boots from the table and they all sit up and lean to get a better look – ten big eyes staring back at me – and smack dab in the middle the cracked-ice blues of Crow. I think my arm is still bleeding – I'm not sure – I know my leg is – I realize I must look like shit – but it goesn't matter – we're still having a stunned silence. Crow's lips are silently moving – but not forming words. Now all the candles seem to burn lower at once. Though they don't notice. Lisa finally speaks; "Cypress, we…" And now the candles are out. And now I can't even see the beams of the floodlights outside. I can't even feel the floor. I don't feel anything. It's peaceful. * * * * * * i can try to get away / but i've strapped myself in / i can try to scratch away / the sound in my ears / i can see it killing away / all my bad parts / i don't want to listen / but it's all too clear /// hiding /// backwards inside of me /// i feel /// so unafraid //// annie /// hold a little tighter /// i might /// just slip away /// it won't give up / it wants me dead / goddamn this noise inside my head * * * * * * My gloved hand grips the staff, and a long heavy robe hangs, simple and black, from the hood on my head to my ankles. I'm heading up the side of a mountain. It's cold. Freezing. But I do not feel unfomfortable. I will get there when I get there. Looking to my feet, I notice they are beaten, sore, and all I wear are sandals. But that's alright. Perhaps I am a monk. It's a pleasing thought. I make it over the top of one hill and finally look down on the valley. The monestary lays at the foot of the snowless basin, near the river. A few crops and gardens flesh out the dim colours behind the monestary. No walls protect it – it is pure to the world. I feel heavy steps through the ground, but only hear light pads, and turn to see him. He is a wolf. Nine feet tall at his humped, black shaggy neck. He stands like a man, on two legs much like those of a wolf. But with a massive barrel chest and huge, carved arms, with hands like a man. Each finger tipped with something that seems more like a talon than a claw. I smile at him – he is a treasured friend. He claps a hand on my shoulder as we look down at the monestary below. Untouched by the evils of the world, it is the last of the best of humanity. And I look up and smile at him. A blazing orange and black fire burns in his eyes as he growls; burn it ALL I burst from my dream into reality and knock Sophie from the bed. She goes sprawling to the floor, along with the basin of water she was using to tend my wounds. She silently sits up and raises a hand, already wrapped tightly in white bandages. A needle sticks an inch out of the thin but tight fabric. "Fuuuuck…" She whines, gripping the needle with the other hand and drawing it out. Another full inch appears to have been driven into her hand during the fall. "Oh, fuck, sweetie, I'm sorry," I start. "Nono, it's okay. See? I'm already bandaged." She raises her hand – not a speck of blood appears on the virgin white fabric. But now I notice – Sophie's third finger is missing. What a trooper – I can't help but smile at her. "C'mere – let's have a smoke," I say. "Were you having a nightmare?" she asks as she gathers her things and places them back on the bed. "Sort of," I lie. I've been having that nightmare for years. Not since I went to the Tower, though. She finds a cloth and refills the basin. Careful not to slip on the spilled water, she hops back up onto the bed beside me, and refocuses a light she was using. "Where are the others?" I ask. "Out on duty – we drew lots to see who got to stay with you. Crow got the first automatically – then Lisa. Now it's me." "Then what's with the needle?" She pulls back the covers, nearly up to my crotch, to reveal a row of popped stitches in the new hole in my leg. "Oh." "You've been having nightmares all day and popping your stiches. We didn't want to give you any sedatives, 'cause you've lost so much blood." "Oh." She returns to cleaning the newly reopened wound and drawing out the popped surgical thread. It really hurts. "Did you really sleep with Crow?" she asks now. I lay back and reach for my smokes, which have been conveniently placed on the bedside table. "Yeah." I light a smoke. This really hurts. "Why?" "'Cause it was right," I say. She pauses at this before returning to her work. "Ow." "How did you know?" she asks casually. "Do you love me, Sophie?" I say. She pauses again, turning to me. Those brown eyes are huge. Dark. Innocent under the shadow of her toque. Her lip trembles. She doesn't speak. She just nods. "I missed you guys so much today," I say. "I love all you guys. I missed all of you." "Did you miss me?" "Yeah. I was wondering if you were listening to my discman." She wells up at this and pulles her toque down over her eyes as he lips tremble more, and a tear rolls over one to be wiped away at the last moment. "The boys broke it," she finally says. "When they shot me." She holds up the bandaged hand – missing the middle finger. "And then I got a needle in my hand and you don't love me." She collapses onto my torso, sobbing. I pull the toque off and stroke her hair. I never noticed, but Sophie's skin is really smooth. I draw her up until her head rests on my undamaged shoulder, and we lay like that for a while. Soon she's calmed herself, and seems content to simply hold me for a time. "It's not fair," she says finally. "Why Crow?" Her hand snakes over to grip mine, and she squeezes it. "When I left the Tower yesterday… what did you want to do?" I ask. "I… I wanted to run after you. Grab a megaphone and ask you to stop. To stop you from going." "Okay. Now when Crow saw me leave the Tower yesterday – what did she do?" Staring at me, Sophie thinks about this long and hard. "Okay," she says, nodding. "I'll finish up." It still really hurts. "But… then why not Michelle?" Sophie asks. I pause. "What?" "Michelle followed Crow. That night – about five minutes after you drove off, Michelle started after you. She didn't come back until just before we left the Tower." "Ow! Is there any booze around here? Anything?" * * * Sophie finishes the repairs on my leg in silence, the permatoque pulled low over her dark eyes. After she's done, she lays my clothes on the bed with my equipment nearby. "There's a general meeting of the Alphas and Betas at midnight," she says. "In the Old Spaghetti House at the bar." "Okay," I nod. "That's in ten minutes," she says, motioning with her eyes to her watch. "…shit." I fumble out of the sheets to quickly slip into my underwear and take up my pants. I haven't noticed her approach, but a small hand is on my chest. I look up to see Sophie's deep, dark brown eyes blazing up at mine. The permatoque is clutched in her damaged right hand, and her hair falls randomly across half her face. But her eyes blaze through. "We could have been really happy," she says, her voice betraying her nerves. I nod. And she kisses me. One of the things that sticks out about Sophie's lips are the texture. So utterly soft and… welcoming. I do kiss her back. But soon I stop, and let her fall from her tiptoes to the floor. "We could've," I nod. She smiles lovingly up at me. "It woulda' been real cool." This seems to satisfy her, and she points to her watch again. "Eight minutes," she says. * * * I was stationed at the Forks for a time – I don't know it that well, but I find my way to the old restaurant with little trouble. Limping across the indoor mall, I enter the Old Spaghetti House and hobble forward as the room goes charactaristically silent at my entrance. They're all gathered around the bar, pouring drinks. A long table has been set up with thirteen chairs. One for every Alpha and Beta here. Michelle pushes out of the mass at the bar to limp towards me. "You got one too?" I say, motioning to the bandage in her calf. She nods, and pulls out the chair at the head of table for me as Crow takes the seat beside. "How're you feeling?" Crow says. "Battered but better," I grin, finding a smoke. "What's the meeting about?" "Our options," Michelle says, taking the seat beside me. "And who's in charge out here?" I ask. Michelle nods towards the other end of the table, as Lisa takes her seat at the head. "The blond," Michelle says. "For now." "Everyone got a drink?" Lisa says. "Set," we bark together. "Alright, we all know the situation. There's about forty-five of them over there, and twenty-one of us. Escape is impossible without help from the Tower." They all nod grimly. "What news from the front?" Lisa darts her eyes up to me. "The old ones attacked Westwood just after I showed up there. They're about seventy strong now, most likely." "And with their weapons, they're still more than a match for the boys or the Tower," Saku says. Hm. I hadn't noticed her here. "Not alone," I say. smokeSCREEN : bookFOUR "But that's the way it has to be," Lisa tells me. Tells all of us. "As soon as we showed up here at the Forks, we tried to get out peacefully. They wouldn't let us leave. Four of us are dead already – there will be no peace." I am silent. I smoke my smoke. Maybe this war isn't about a disease any more. It's become more hatred than fear. "…and so all is lost," I finish my thought out loud. They're all staring at me. "…what?" Lisa says. "Nothing." I shake my head. "Well, Cypress, what most of us are really curious about," Lisa says finally, "is your story. So tell it." * * * * * * you don't know what / we can find / why don't you come with me, little girl / on a magic carpet ride // you don't know what / we will see / why don't you tell your dreams to me? / fantasy will set you free * * * * * * "Twelve old ones," Saku counts on her fingers. "Wounded their leader. Plus whoever was left inside." I nod. "That settles it, as far as I'm concerned," Saku says, glancing to Lisa. Lisa nods, slowly, and stands. "All in favour?" she asks. Everyone aside from me raises her arm. "In favour of what?" I say. "Of me stepping down as temporary leader," Lisa says. I glance to Michelle. "Congrats," I say. But Michelle looks confused. "Didn't Sophie tell you…?" With a slap, a familiar old book is tossed onto the table. It's a yearbook. And Crow looks away. "Just had to run and tell, didn't we?" I say. "They had to know," she says softly. But it's too late. I'm pissed off. "So you'd have me lead you?" I say to the table. They nod. "I wouldn't. And I propose that I have some say in the matter." "Who here is better for the role?" Michelle says as she rocks her chair back, darting her eyes up to mine. "You," I say. She shakes her head. "I'm a guard, just like Crow. I don't have the field experience. Lisa outranks me there." "Then Lisa stays on," I say. "Cypress," Lisa says. "You know their methods. You know how far they'll go. You know how to talk to them, and if worse comes to worse, you could most likely figure out a way to kill all of them." She leans forward and places her hands on the table. "You were grade four. We've all seen the picture. Whatever gift it is that you have, we need it. So I step down." She removes a silver chain from her neck. As she hands the chain along down the table, I see that a silver ring hangs from it. And as Michelle places the ring in my hands, I turn it over to see the symbol. I have no idea what it means, but I do remember this ring. The world pauses, and all my fears have come true. Everything my father told me was true. And I can feel it – I can feel my emotions crumbling. I don't understand any of it. I want to crack. But I speak. "…where did you get this?" "It's the ring Jessie had when we attacked you guys in year three," Saku says. "It's sort the our momento of victories in the field." And the wolf whispers to me; take it slip it on your finger I slide the chain over my neck. Zen. "Alright," I say, fingering the ring at my throat. I stare out at the room. I'm working things out. Crow's staring at me. They're all staring at me. "Well?" Lisa says. I nod. "I accept. Everyone who's not on duty, gather your floors and go crash." For a moment, they just stare. Lisa and Michelle are the first to stand. "What happens tomorrow?" Saku says. "Tomorrow I go talk to them," I tell her. "And if it all goes wrong, I'll want well-rested women at their posts, won't I?"   * * *   Crow silently ascends the tiny staircase ahead of me and enters a small room, which must be at the very top of the Terminal. Here there are darkened windows on all sides, a bed, a shelf of magazines and comic books, provisions and booze. On one shelf I notice a particularly old, respectable-looking book. Something that wouldn't have pictures. "We took Johnston Terminal in…" "Year seven." "Yeah." She turns to me, as if to remind me who I am. "You took it back year nine." "I was out here for a summer," I say. "Never noticed this." "No one noticed it," she shrugs, lighting a lamp on the bedside table. "Michelle would tell me to take a radio and go off on watch duty. I sat up here a whole summer and no one really noticed." "Lonely days," I nod, peeking out a window at the Market. Two guards on the roof. I lean down and look up. …sniper in the Market bell tower. I'll have to tell Michelle about him. Then again, perhaps I should avoid Michelle for a while and tell Lisa. "…does anyone else know about this room?" I ask instead. "Well, Lisa and Michelle," she says. "For emergencies." Gripping the door handle, I gently push it closed until it clicks into place. I turn around in time to catch a set of keys. "The blue one," she smiles. Locking the door, I find Crow's arms draping around me, a her lips curved in a wry smile. "How's your arm feeling?" Funny she should ask – it still feels like Hell. "Better," I say. "Really?" she raises an eyebw. "So you're feelin'… bendy?" "What are you getting at?" And now she's kissing me, and we fall back against the heavy old door. "Mmmmtell me about your day, honey," she says, still kissing me. Now she leans back with a lick of my lips and grins. I let my hands loosely hold her hips as she leads be back into the center of the room. "Man, I had a shitty day at work today, pumpkin." "Pumpkin?" "It's from Pulp Fiction." "Go on, Honey." She's kissing me again, one of her fingers has slipped into my pants, and is now pulling me for the bed. "Well for one thing, I got to the office? It was empty. Turns out I'd gone in on a Holiday." She's still kissing me, her tongue doing strange yet, strangely enjoyable things to my lips. "So what'd you do then?" she asks, pulling my sweaters over my head. "Well, I was about to leave, but then people start coming in the store." My hand runs down the chunky clips on her white cotton shirt. Clickclicklickclickclick and it slides from her shoulders. "Apparantly customers didn't know it was a holiday, either." She grins at me, raising her arms as for me to pull her sweater off. "Problem was, by the time I was ready to leave, there were so many customers in the store I couldn't get to an exit." "What did you tell them?" she asks. I raise an eyebrow. "This is new," I smile. I never really pictured Crow in something lacy. "Do you hate it?" "No, it's groovy, it's just… very femenine." I lean in and wrap my arms around her, one hand going to what I suspect will be a snap…. Hm… this is a new challenge… "So what happened with the customers?" she says. "Well, I had to serve a few of them." She cocks her head to the side. "And by 'serve' you really mean…" …this whole Non-Sports-Bra thing is really giving me trouble… "Skillfully murder in self-defense." …hold on… shit… "Ah – go on," she says. Fuck this bra! "Well, eventually I served enough of them, they were so spread out I was able to make good my escape. Yes! There we go…" The bra falls from her pale shoulders and she gives me a curious look. "Was it giving you trouble?" "Pfft – no." And she's giving me that grin. I've already got her skirt around her ankles. I falls around her tight boots, and she kicks it away before sliding them off. It's now that I notice her underwear. "This matches," I grin. She crosses her legs and covers herself. "Stop it," she says. "Look at me." I stand up and kiss her. She smiles, but my fingers gently tug at the lacy waistband. I can never understand how her eyes can be so pale, so cold at first glance, but so utterly welcoming. So bright – sparkling against her black hair. "Where are you?" she asks suddenly. I grin. 'In your eyes' sounds kind of stupid. "I'm thinking about you," I say. She wrinkles her nose. "Like what?" I get my boots off and drop my pants as she falls onto the bed. "Like… wow." "Wow?" "Wow." "Wow what?" "Wow – you're so beautiful." She blushes and smiles, but I can tell that's struck her somehow. I join her on the bed and lean down, kissing her. "But seriously," I say, tugging at the panties again. "Where did you get these?" "Sophie," she says. I raise an eyebrow. "This is Sophie's underwear?" Huh. Kinky. "No, Sophie, she… a little while after you came to the Tower, she went and found nice underwear like this in all our sizes, and they're so tiny she just kept them in her pack until one of us… got together with you. And I got together with you, so… it's a gift." "Huh," I say, nuzzling her neck and stroking her tummy. "God, I missed you." "What're you thinking?" she asks. "Honestly?" I say. She climbs on top of me, straddling me. I'm suddenly reminded that I'm without underwear. "Always." "I'm thinkin' that if we do everything right, and get the Tower and Westwood on the same side? Getting Together Gifts will become a tradition of our culture. The twenty-second of August will be known as Sophie day. Twenty-first will be ours." As I speak, her mouth gets wider and wider in a sort of tender, amazed, overwhelmed smiled. "Wh.." she begins. "…why did you look at it like that?" "Well," I say, reaching up to stroke her face. Her skin is so unbelieveably soft for someone who's gone through such a life. "It's probably occurred to you that when you and me kissed? It was the first time ANY of us had really kissed someone. And the first time we… had sex, it was the first time any of us in Winnipeg had. We're a new culture. If we survive, we'll be remembered forever." She grins. "So you think we might survive." "If we do everything right. If there are no fuck-ups," I say. "Knock on wood," she says. I look around. "Why is everthing in here metal?" I suddenly notice. Just then we hear the shots outside. Their sniper in the Market bell tower is shooting at our sentries. I leap to a window. Shit. I think he just killed Diane. "They got Diane," I shout. I turn around in time to be struck in the head with my underwear and pants as Crow zips up and clips her skirt, finding her bra. * * * Skidding to a stop at the main doors, I yank Crow behind a corner and out of the line of fire. Shit. I wish there had been some wood in that room. "Where's the megaphone?" I shout. "Upstairs!" Lisa calls from the other side of the main foyer. She motions to Kerri, a Beta, to go get it. "Snipers!" I bark. "Michelle, Saku, Lisa, go to opposite ends of the Terminal and set up – doubletime – fifteen seconds! They have shooters on the roof, in dark windows, in the bell tower! Take them all until I call cease fire!" They're already dashing to their respective posts as I peer back to the Market. Whoever fired the first shot… "Cypress, here," Kerri's handing me the megaphone. "Who fired the first shot?" I say. "We did," she frowns. I think for a moment. * * * After the shots have died down, I walk with a Beta named Y'vette out onto the cracked pavement. A few feet ahead of me, her boot crushes a shoot of grass that was brazen enough to poke through one of the tiny fissures. Michelle and Saku are behind me, both with pistols tucked into their belts. "Y'vette here fired the first shot," I call across to the Market. A few heads poke up, and I draw the sword. "That is not aceptable." Y'vette raises her arm at the elbow, and the sword whips out to shear it away below the joint. In a gory spray of blood it falls lifeless to the ground as Y'vette falls beside it, howling in pain. I hope she's not overdoing it. Michelle and Saku quickly heave her up and carry her back to the Terminal, squirming and crying out. I bend to snatch up the forearm and look to the Market. "The ceasefire stands," I shout, and walk back into the Terminal. Lisa's waiting for me at the entrance when I come back in. "A little bold, don't you think?" she asks. I shake my head, and tap the severed plastic hand against the wall she's leaning on. "Y'vette spent most of last year in the kitchens," I tell her. "This is the first field work floor three has done since she lost the arm. They have no way of knowing it wasn't kosher." "They'll know when, if we ever get peace, her arm's already healed up." "Yes," I nod. "But by then it won't matter, will it?" She nods slowly as Michelle and Crow pull up the rear behind me. "How many lost?" I say as we walk towards the old restaurant. "Diane's nearly gone – Sophie's seeing to her. Another's wounded, but she'll be fine." "How bad?" I jump behind the bar and whip up three shot glasses. "She should be up and about by tomorrow," Crow says. "How many taken?" I shoot my eyes up to Michelle. "We hit three of them. I'm positive I killed one." "Crow – we'll meet again in thirty minutes, alright? Go tell the other Alphas to get here doublequick." Crow looks to question this for a moment. Looking down at the three shot glasses – one for Michelle, Lisa and myself – I suddenly realise I've pulled rank on her. It starts. My brow creases and I consider. Is this how it starts? I could burn it all. By the time I look up, Crow's on her way out and I notice I've already got the bottle of bourbon in my hand. I pour the shots and wait for the Alphas to assemble, pouring a new shot for each as she arrives until the bottle is empty and I'm obliged to finish the rest with Sour Puss. "Smoke 'em if you got 'em," I say. We all find cigarettes and light up. Though I suspect Saku is not lighting a cigarette. "What's up, Boss?" she grins at me. "Who fired the first shot?" I say quickly. "Who was it, individually?" They all bow their heads, averting their eyes. "The name isn't on the bar." "Chloe." "Chloe, from floor ten," I remember, shooting my eyes up to Nikki, one of the Alphas from floor ten. Nikki nods. "Why the fuck did a Ceta from your floor fire a single shot?" "She says he was going to shoot. She shot him first." "This was one shot we had for peace," I say, raising one of the small glasses. It slips from my grasp and shatters on the floor. "And now it's fucked." I turn to the others. "Who fired next?" Soon only one glass remains intact, and my point has been thoroughly made. "Every shot fired, is one more that breaks any potential of trust. I don't give a shit if he was going to shoot. I don't give a shit if they start pointing cannons. No one pulls a trigger. You tell everyone on your floor. You tell them every ten minutes. No one. Fires a shot." I lift the last remaining glass. "Set?" I ask as I drain it. "Set," they all say as the empty shot glass pounds onto the bar. I whip seven more shot glasses into my hand and onto the bar and pour another round. "Good – two shots each'll be enough to ensure a short road to sleep." They all grin up at me as I raise a bottle of brandy. Soon everyone's satisfied that they were able to charm me into a third round and they're packing off. "Michelle, hang back," I say. She freezes as if her universe had gone cold for a moment, then slowly turns as Lisa places a supportive hand on her shoulder. Lisa exits with the others and Michelle takes her stool at the bar as I pour one last round. She nervously fingers her shot as I take up mine and lean back, considering. "So how am I doing?" I say. She stares at me blankly. "…what?" "Y'know… the leader thing." "Ohhhhhhhhh." She cocks her head to the side and regards me, puzzled, before narrowing her eyes accusingly. "You're not serious." "I was kinda' hoping you'd give an honest opinion." "…why?" "'Cause you have less reason than the others to be nice." I find a smoke, but my lighter eludes me. A flame bursts to life in Michelle's hands, and she leans forward to light my cigarette. "How do you figure that?" "Well… You an' me kinda' got something," I say. "Like we both know something. It's like a secret, but we're not sure what it is, y'know?" She looks shocked now. Afraid, almost. But she's nodding. "Yeah," she whispers. "But I'm with Crow. And that gives you reason to be pissed at me. So I was hoping it would increase your honesty." She nods, bowing her head slightly. "You're… a great leader so far," she says. "Truth?" She nods. "Truth." Looking up at me, her eyes are as uncomfortable to me as they are inviting. They speak to me of broken wordless promises and my own discontent. "Why didn't you even… give me a second chance? Why just… say it flat out – you're with Crow?" This takes me a moment. It's a question I've considered myself, but a wordless promise to Michelle does not hold weight against a spoken oath to Crow. Plus, Michelle won't take the "Crow ran after me" bit as easily as Sophie. "If you and I had happened," I say, "Wouldn't you want me to say I was with you, and that's it?" "Yes," she nods. "But that's not what happened." I raise my glass. She slowly lifts hers. "To us," I say. "May our affection survive romance." She manages a sort-of smile and we drink, slamming the empty glasses down in unison. I walk her out, but I swear to God, I hear something. She gives me a sly grin as she leaves for some reason, and I hang back to investigate. First I wonder if it's a small cat mewing. Now I hear Michelle talking to someone just outside the restaurant doors in the Terminal mall. But I hear the cat mewing. What the fuck is that? I weave through the pitch black family-dining establishment, and finally come upon a figure in a dark corner of the banquet hall, away from the rest of the tables. It's not a cat. Moaning, now. Maybe I should just leave. But it's not two people. It's just one. And that damned toque is quite a giveaway. "Cypress…" she whispers. …I didn't see her open her eyes. And now she's crying out. She's moaning my name, her hand performing unseen miracles in the depths of her baggy sk8ter pants. Her little hips bucking – her mouth slack in pleasure – her eyes open, but not seeing. I can hear someone else talking in the background. Sounds like a hushed argument. "…Css… Cypress?" Sophie says – her lips pale – her eyes only half open. "Oh my God!" she shrieks, jerking her hand from her pants. "OhmyGod, ohmyGod, ohmyGod – tell me you didn't see anything!" She's gathering herself to her feet. "No, nothing," I say. She stares at me, long and hard. Her sharp green eyes narrow. "Really?" "…what're you doing on the floor?" It's easier this way. She breathes a long sigh of relief and steps forward, giving me a quick hug. But as she leans back from it she pauses a little too long. She lingers. And our lips pass within striking distance. And we're both there. We both could. I kiss her forehead and she slides down, smiling. "So… what were you doing in the restaurant?" I ask as we step out of the banquet hall into the restaurant. "There's nowhere else to sleep," she yawns. I grin and put an arm around her, and she gives a little sqeak. Sophie is so goddamn cute. "Well, go curl up with someone – stay warm at least." I send her off down the upstairs hallway, but she stops after twenty or so paces and turns. "Cypress," she whispers. She comes tiptoe-scampering back to me, and stops so she's staring almost straight up into my eyes. She's so goddamn cute. "Don't tell anyone about what you saw, huh?" "I won't," I say. "Pinkie promise?" she says, holding up her little digit.