Truancy Origins (18 page)

Noni blinked back sudden tears. She couldn't even remember what came after “ever since,” and yet even thinking about it made her cry.

“Why are you crying?” the boy asked dispassionately.

Noni liked it, how the boy didn't seem to show any emotion. She wished she could be more like that.

“I don't know,” Noni said timidly.

“Can't remember?”

Noni nodded.

“You've probably got some unpleasant repressed memories. Sometimes they're better kept that way,” the boy speculated, sounding as though he were speaking out of boredom. “Of course, that can't be all that's bothering you, but I've no way of knowing the rest.”

Noni liked that too, how he came out and said everything to her face. He made no effort to hide his thoughts, obviously because he didn't care about anyone hearing them. If he hated her, she knew he would tell her without hesitation, and the fact that he hadn't was enough to convince her that he
didn't
hate her . . . not like everyone else had.

“Anyway, you've been physically patched up as well as circumstances allow, and I think we've handled the malnutrition problem for now,” the boy mused. “The only issue remaining appears to be the insomnia, and the only way to deal with that is for you to get some rest.”

Now that he mentioned it, Noni began to realize how very tired she really was. Her eyes remained wide, but stung from the effort. She had been so frightened for so long that she didn't know when she had last gotten any real sleep. The boy began to lead her back over to the heap of cloth upon which she had been laid to rest, and she freely followed along. She eagerly lay down and managed to pull a blanket over herself as the boy stood up and slinked over into a dark corner where a bunch of documents had been spread out.

As he went, Noni suddenly remembered to ask something that she'd forgotten.

“Um . . . sir?” she said tentatively.

“Yes?” The boy turned his head around halfway to look at her over his shoulder.

“What . . . what should I call you?” Noni asked, her voice pitifully small.

The boy seemed to hesitate for a moment as he crouched there in the shadows. Noni cringed, immediately worried that she had somehow upset him with her question. But the boy merely shook his head with indecision as he turned fully around.

“I suppose that ‘sir' will do for the time being,” he said. “Now go to sleep. We'll have friends joining us soon.”

“Yes, sir,” Noni said obediently.

 

U
masi groaned in spite of himself and attempted to rise. He was swiftly rewarded with a brutal kick to the gut. As he crumpled back to the ground, a worn boot stomped on his back, and then another assaulted his ribs. The pain from the impacts was persistent, throbbing, and Umasi knew that if he survived he'd be black and blue all over.

As he lay on the ground, Umasi bit back a moan as he realized that the beatings he had received on the school courtyard might as well have been slaps on the wrists. The brutal force behind these blows had been unimaginable to him just days prior. He had never understood what it meant to be attacked by people who didn't hold back, people with no mercy or restraint.

But he did now.

“Think we should kill him, Raphael?”

“No way man, take a look at those clothes and the backpack. Kid ain't no vagrant—he's a student. The Enforcers would torch the whole district if we killed him!”

“Psh, let 'em come, they'll never find us.”

“You crazy, James? You forgotten the parking garage already? Chris would throw a fit if he knew you were thinking about bringing the Enforcers down here.”

“Fine, whatever, let 'im live. If he
is
a student, he sure picked one hell of a place to go on a field trip.”

“Come on, he's had enough and we're already late. The others might've ditched us by now.”

Umasi again repressed the urge to moan and rolled over at the sound of receding footsteps. His injuries punished him for every movement, but he refused to make any sound that would betray his weakness. Opening his one eye that wasn't swollen shut, Umasi vaguely saw two boys running off with his backpack containing all of his supplies. The vagrants rounded a street corner, and then they vanished. Umasi felt a nasty sensation welling up in his stomach, but he clenched his fists and forced the vomit down. The only food he had left was inside his stomach, and he couldn't afford to lose that now.

Life on his own wasn't what he thought it would be.

Umasi wasn't sure exactly what he had been expecting, but what he felt now was much worse than anything he'd experienced in his troubled dreams. It was despair, shame, guilt, disappointment, and a hundred other negative emotions all rolled into one. He had never felt worse in his life.
His only consolation was that he had taken the beating without moaning, without betraying his weakness. There had been a time when degrading himself wouldn't have mattered to Umasi, but in that moment when he had first faced possible death, with his life at the mercy of two who had none, he realized that he had nothing else left to defend but his pride. And so he had.

Umasi ruefully wondered if it was just his luck that sucked or if District 13 was to blame. Whatever it was, he had barely stepped within the boundaries of the abandoned district before the two thugs had appeared, both large, ragged, with a feral look in their eyes.

“Hey kid, that's a nice backpack you got there,” the first vagrant had complimented.

“Uh . . . thanks?” Umasi had replied warily.

“Welcome. Now hand it over.”

“Wh-what?”

“I don't think he heard ya right, Raphael,” the second thug had observed. “He ain't givin us the pack.”

“Maybe this'll teach him to listen!”

And with that, the vagrant named Raphael had punched Umasi hard in the chest, flinging him against the wall of a building. His glasses had been cast from his face by the impact, and the other vagrant quickly trampled them underfoot. Seeing that, and having been tossed around like a rag doll, Umasi had snapped. Before he knew what he was doing, Umasi had struck back for the first time in his life, kicking viciously at his assailant. Caught up in his sudden madness, Umasi had forgotten everything he learned in his self-defense classes, attacking fiercely, but crudely.

Maybe that was why they had beaten him so hard.

The first vagrant had taken the blow well, staggering back a few paces as his partner lunged for Umasi. Umasi had slid his backpack off in order to move better, and then threw a punch at the second thug, who backed up just in time to avoid it. Then the first ruffian reentered the fray, seizing Umasi by both shoulders and slamming him against the brick wall. His partner then joined in, using Umasi as a punching bag, and the rest was history.

There had been two of them, sure, but it didn't stop Umasi from feeling pathetic about how easily he'd been beaten.

In an attempt to suppress tears of rage, Umasi focused on his injuries. Damn, did it hurt everywhere. He'd been bruised all over, and he thought that he was bleeding but wasn't exactly sure where. He didn't think that anything had been broken, but he felt so incredibly tired, a weariness that ran deeper than just his muscles. He would rest for a while, here. Not die,
Umasi reminded himself, just rest. And maybe later he'd get up, leave the accursed district, and then . . . what? Return home, lesson learned?

Home, where he'd exchange his freedom for comforts and safety? Home, where everything would be so easy, and yet so hard, all over again?

Both of Umasi's eyes snapped open.

No.

He had no home.

He had run away once already, and he wouldn't run back again.

Umasi allowed himself a painful smile with cracked lips. Even as he lay there, curled up and shivering on the dirty ground, he now felt an insane sort of pride. He wasn't going to give up. If he survived, then there would be no more running for him. He would face his problems, and find his brother or die trying.

 

G
lad that you could join us, Gabriel! Everyone else has already arrived, and some of them were beginning to voice concern.”

“Sorry, Zen, I had to dodge a few Enforcer patrols on the way here.”

“Yes, I've received a lot of complaints about those. Did any of them spot you?”

“I don't think so, but this whole district's been crawling with them from what I've seen. Think they're on to us already?”

“Doubtful. They're probably just searching for me—I did kill one of them yesterday, after all.”

“What? Already?”

“Indeed. Come on in, the others have already been briefed in your absence.”

“Lot of people in there I've not met yet?”

“Some of them I've only met today for the first time myself, actually.”

“And you trust all of them?”

“None of them got caught by those loud and obnoxious Enforcer patrols, so they pass the test of minimum capability. Only time will tell how reliable they'll be. From their academic profiles, and the occasional interview I conducted over the phone, I've decided that these would make the most promising inaugural Truants. Certainly, few of them have much to lose.”

“Well, Zen, I trust your judgment.”

“I do appreciate that. By the way, I must ask you not to refer me as ‘Zen' anymore. I think it prudent that my real name not be associated with the Truancy in any way.”

“All right, I just hope you know what you're doing.”

“So do I, Gabriel. After all, if it turns out that I don't, then we're all dead. Every last one of us.”

“Now, there's a cheerful thought.”

Zen laughed mirthlessly as he led Gabriel farther into the building where he'd been hiding since the previous day. It was a nondescript brown-stone on a street of nearly identical-looking houses, and save for the Truancy symbol concealed inside the doorway, nothing made it stand out among the others. By all appearances, it defined “inconspicuous,” and was therefore a perfect place to hide from the Enforcer patrols.

As they entered a small, dimly lit chamber, Gabriel found himself facing
a room full of unfamiliar faces. Zen wasted no time in introducing Gabriel to the other newcomers. The first that had arrived was a brown-skinned boy named Amal, who looked friendly and intelligent. The second was a dark-haired and brooding boy named Aaron, who barely spoke a word during the introductions. In third place was a skinny kid named Max, who was looking around a little dazedly, as if unable to believe what he was doing. In dead last was Ken, a fatigued boy who had had some difficulty arriving undetected.

“Would you like some hot chocolate, Gabriel?” Zen offered as Gabriel shook hands with the others. “We've made some to ward off the cold—this building has running water, but no heating or electricity, I'm afraid.”

“No, thanks,” Gabriel said. “I had a narrow escape with one of the patrols and my stomach is still unknotting.”

“Well, you're certainly not alone.” Zen gestured at the other Truants. “Aaron and Max declined refreshment as well.”

The two Truants he named both nodded briefly at Gabriel, but said nothing. There was a lot of palpable tension in that room, and a lot of nervousness.

“Well, my friends, you must be wondering how exactly things will work around here,” Zen observed. “I won't keep you in suspense. As all of you know by now, we are going to fight the Educators. I believe that we have always known in our hearts that they were our enemies, that this conflict was inevitable—but in their ignorance they have never regarded
us
as anything more than scum, let alone a threat.”

Gabriel nodded at that, as did all the other Truants. They all knew personally how deep the Educators' contempt for them ran. None of them had any love left for the Educators, especially in light of what Zen had revealed to them.

“I won't make any illusion about what this struggle will entail,” Zen said. “You will have to kill. You may very well die. All of you understood this before you came, and yet you came anyway. The only promise that I can make you now is that no sacrifice that I ask of you will ever be without purpose.”

Gabriel believed that. No matter what people might have said about Zen, no one ever accused him of being wasteful.

“You may think that you will be able to handle it now,” Zen continued, “but it is possible that you may later want to change your mind. This will not be allowed. Once you are a Truant, you can never return to being a student again. Attempting to do so would endanger yourself and all of us. If you run, the Enforcers will undoubtedly try to capture and interrogate you . . . provided that we don't get to you first.”

Gabriel smiled grimly at that. Even within the confines of school, dark
rumors about the Enforcers and what they did to the vagrants managed to spread. Even if they were exaggerated, Gabriel had no doubts about the Enforcers' brutality.

“We may be old by the time this struggle is over,” Zen warned, “so it is important that we never lose sight of what we're fighting for—a City where we would have been equals. I myself left school only a few days ago, and yet already the memories of it are fading. But we cannot forget the true nature of school, for when that happens the Educators will have truly succeeded in their goal—turning us into them.

“We've not known each other for a long time, but we all share a common enemy, and a common goal,” Zen said. “That's enough to make us comrades. No matter the outcome, from this day forward we will pursue that goal and fight that enemy together. From this day forward, we are that which the Educators fear most.

“From this day forward, we are the Truancy.”

It wasn't the type of speech designed to produce applause, but Gabriel and the other Truants clapped anyway. Zen's words had been solemn and yet thrilling at the same time.