Truancy Origins (28 page)

“The Enforcers always know how many of us there are, where and when to find us,” Red continued, “and Chris is nowhere to be found when they do! I'd bet anything that this rat's been selling us out! It probably makes him feel special!”

“STOP!”

Chris lunged at Red, who felt a thrill of satisfaction as they both hit the ground, wrestling for each other's throats. Red had been expecting Chris to attack him, and he intended to take full advantage of the opportunity it offered. All around them, the rest of the gang formed a silent circle, realizing that their collective fate was about to be decided.

As they thrashed about on the ground, neither combatant was able to gain the upper hand. Chris had size on his side and was driven by desperate rage, but Red was clearheaded and fierce in his own right. The two rolled under a large wooden table, and Red, who had been pinned under Chris, lashed upwards with all his might. Chris slammed against the bottom of the table, stunned long enough for Red to shove him off to the side. Scrambling out from under the table, Red swiftly overturned it, bringing it crashing down upon Chris as the vagrant leader attempted to rise.

Parts of the table, which had become rickety after years of neglect, broke
off from the impact, and Chris struggled to extract himself from the mess. Red seized a broken table leg and swung it at Chris, who hastily raised a chunk of the tabletop to block the blow. Both leg and tabletop shattered as they struck each other, and Chris flung his pieces into Red's face to send him reeling back a few paces.

Trying to press his advantage, Chris charged at Red, who seized a tall lamp and swung it around to meet his oncoming foe. The lamp head slammed into Chris' face, the bulb shattering as Chris yelped in surprise and tipped over. Not letting up for an instant, Red swung the lamp around and brought its base crashing down onto Chris' prone body. Chris squealed like a stuck pig, raising his arms uselessly to fend off any more blows.

“Stop! You can't do this! Stop!” Chris whined. “Please, I didn't mean it!”

Red struck Chris with the lamp again, and the would-be leader curled up into a fetal position, his cries of “Stop” growing fainter and more pitiful with each utterance. Red stared down at the lump in disgust, then shook his head and lowered his weapon. All around him, the vagrants stared as though seeing Chris for the first time. Some looked shocked; others were revolted.

As soon as Red turned his back, Chris stopped whining and glared up at his enemy with a look of pathetic loathing. But he did not rise, and Red didn't spare him another glance. Instead, breathing heavily, Red straightened up and looked around at the other vagrants.

“All right,” he panted, “now let's go show this Truancy what we're made of.”

 

Z
en tapped his foot lightly as he stared up the empty street.

“Are you sure that they'll come?” Zen asked.

“They're not gonna turn down a challenge like that,” Frank said. “I mean, Chris isn't known for being brave, but if he doesn't come the rest of his gang will.”

“Good, because the alternative is approaching them in their own lair,” Zen said. “That is something I would prefer to avoid if given a choice.”

“It's too bad the kid—what was his name, Raphael? Too bad he didn't want to play nice.”

“If he had not attacked you on sight, there would have been no need to kill him,” Zen agreed. “However, that is not how it panned out. Thus, here we are.”

“Here” happened to be the end of a street that, unlike most in the City, did not connect with any others. It merely stopped, forming a jutting rectangle surrounded on all sides by buildings. The district had long been
abandoned, and its oddly configured streets had never been renovated. A veritable maze of alleyways cut through the neat blocks so randomly that even vagrants had difficulty keeping track of it all. Zen had picked the perfect place for an ambush, though he did not think the vagrants would see it as such. He expected them to rush into the trap believing that they were cornering their victims.

Zen glanced around one last time to make sure that all the preparations had been made. Frank, Noni, and he were the only ones out in the open, but out of the corner of his eyes he could see Gabriel giving him a thumbs-up from the shadow of an alley. Within the alleyways, Zen knew, would be a number of other Truants keeping an eye on every possible path to and from the site. Aaron, though no longer present, had already tested and set up a number of explosives just in case, though Zen did not intend to detonate any of them today. The former vagrants, now new Truants, lay in wait in the surrounding buildings. They had adjusted well to life as Truants; given food, a chance to wash, new clothing, and a good night's rest, they seemed like new people altogether, and got along surprisingly well with the veterans. Zen had decided that Frank should remain visible, and so he stood by Zen's side along with Noni, who occasionally shot icy glares at him. Everything was in place, Zen decided—except Chris' vagrants.

As if on cue, a motley collection of ten vagrants rounded the street corner and began advancing up the road. Zen was amused to see all sorts of junk being wielded as weapons; pipes, bricks, planks—one boy had what looked like a tall, broken lamp. Zen smiled. If all went well they would soon have much better weapons to use. And if it didn't . . . well, then no amount of lamps would save these vagrants.

“Is this all there is?” the boy with the lamp called as the group drew closer. “This is the Truancy?”

“Indeed.” Zen bowed graciously. “We are the Truancy, and we're pleased to make your acquaintance. I must apologize for our disagreement with one of your members—we were unable to convince him to stop attacking Frank here, so I had to persuade him with my gun.”

Zen casually began retying his ponytail, his shoulders raising his wind-breaker so that the gun on his hip was clearly visible. Some of the vagrants hesitated at the sight; indeed, the boy with the lamp froze completely when he got a good look at Zen. Still, they seemed to have the advantage in numbers, so all of them stood their ground. But when next they spoke, it wasn't to Zen.

“Frank?” one of the vagrants said incredulously. “Frank from Glick's bunch? Is that you? What the hell happened to you? You look like a student now!”

“Glick is dead, so is the gang,” Frank said bluntly. “But we're definitely not students, we're Truants now.”

“Who are?” another vagrant jeered. “You three? We're terrified. When we came out here we was expecting a real gang or something, not three idiots with a gun!”

“There are actually twenty of us present, and more who are not,” Zen said. “Perhaps if you took a look around you might begin to understand the situation a little better.”

As if against their will, the vagrants' heads turned, and now many of them really did look scared. Zen didn't blame them. Emerging from the alleys and buildings were seventeen more Truants, all equipped with some sort of formidable weaponry, all healthy and well clothed. The vagrants gaped, for they recognized the faces of some of their old rivals among the Truants who now surrounded them. Zen glanced over at Frank and saw a look of pure delight on his face. He could tell that the boy was struggling hard not to gloat aloud.

Just as the vagrants seemed to be steeling themselves for one last, desperate charge for freedom, Zen cleared his throat and spoke, stopping them in their tracks.

“Before anyone attempts anything foolish, I should make it clear that I do not intend to kill any of you unless you force my hand. The Truancy is not some vagrant gang out to kill over the contents of garbage cans.”

“Then what is the Truancy, eh?” one of the vagrants demanded.

“If you would sit down and listen for a few minutes,” Zen said, “I will tell you.”

 

R
ed sat rooted to the spot, still staring in shock at the boy who was now declaring himself to be the leader of a rebellion against the Educators. It wasn't the boy's weapon, his wild ambitions, or even the ambush that had stunned him; it was the boy himself. Red had instantly recognized the mysterious child who had appeared from the shadows to casually murder an Enforcer. Red had always known that the boy—who had just introduced himself as Z—was trouble, but he had never expected that trouble to involve him.

Shaking himself from his stupor, Red cautiously began looking around. The other vagrants were all sitting in rapt attention, all previous enmity forgotten. With a surge of fury, Red spotted Chris skulking about at the back of the crowd. Red hadn't known that the boy had tagged along, and thought that he had a lot of nerve to do so. Gritting his teeth, Red looked back up to examine Z's companions. Red had never seen Frank before, but with a jolt, Red realized that the girl standing next to the Truancy leader
was the one he had given an apple to in that alley on that fateful day. There was no mistaking those icy eyes. At the same time, Red found it difficult to recognize her because she looked . . . different. Her hair was no longer matted, but straight and glossy. She was wearing new, clean clothes, and a black scarf was tightly wrapped around her face. But more than that, her pose, rigid and strong, made her seem like a completely different person from the shivering, terrified little girl that Red remembered.

Red sank closer to the ground and looked away, worried now that the girl might recognize him. As the boy who called himself Z began talking about resources and mentioned something about unlimited funds, Red saw a greedy expression flit across Chris' face. Red smiled wryly; Chris might be foolish enough to try to exploit this bunch, but Red certainly wasn't. He had a sharp instinct for detecting danger, and this Truancy set off every alarm that he had.

Just by looking around at the faces of his fellow vagrants, Red could tell that he was alone in his distress. His compatriots were obviously captivated by what the Truancy was offering. Seeing their former rivals turned overnight into a clean, well-fed, well-organized fighting force had made a deep first impression, and they now coveted that kind of change for themselves as well. Red grimaced. Z was now discussing how he planned to make a base of operations in District 15. If Red waited around until the end of the speech, there was no doubt that he'd be overruled, and then possibly killed.

The only thing he could do, Red decided, was what he did best: run.

And you called Chris a coward,
a nagging corner of his mind jeered.
Look at you, sneaking off at the first sign of trouble!

It's not like they'll be needing me,
Red told himself.
I wouldn't be doing anyone any good if I stuck around to be killed; it's not the same thing.

With that thought, Red dispelled his doubts and slowly, carefully, began inching towards the cover of the nearest alley. Largely hidden by the bodies of his fellows, Red managed to reach the mouth of the alley undetected. Red glanced around. The Truants themselves no longer seemed to be watching the crowd, but rather paying attention to their leader's speech.

Steeling himself, Red took a deep breath and slipped into the alley, pausing for the briefest of moments to see if anyone had noticed. No one had. Hope welling up in his chest, Red got up and began walking away as quietly as he could. Soon he turned a corner and was out of sight from the street. Breaking into a run, Red began to feel pretty good about his chances. Then a startled voice yelled at him from a side alley.

“Hey! You! Hold it right there!”

Red glanced down the passage and saw a thin Truant running at him, pistol held aloft. Red swore under his breath and began running as fast as
he could. He hadn't expected the Truancy to have anyone watching the alleys; clearly this group meant business. The boy chasing him continued to shout warnings, and Red knew that at any moment he might start firing. Ducking behind a corner, Red thrust his leg out as his pursuer came into sight, tripping the boy. As the Truant fell, his gun went off. Knowing that the others would have been alerted by the noise, Red hastened to take advantage of the precious seconds he had bought. With another burst of speed, he darted around the next corner . . .

. . . and slammed right into a brick wall.

Rebounding from the collision, Red clutched his injured face. The corner hadn't been a corner at all, but rather an indentation in the alley wall. Red swore loudly, trying to regain his footing, but it was too late. The pursuing Truant had gotten to his feet and was now raising his gun. Red's legs suddenly failed him, and he fell back onto the ground. His hands trembling, Red shut his eyes, knowing that at last, after all the running he had done in his life, death had finally caught up to him.

Then there was a swish and the tinkling of metal. The Truant let out a yelp of surprise, followed by a dull thud. Red's eyes snapped open just in time to see the glint of a chain as it was drawn back into a white sleeve. Almost involuntarily, Red's eyes slowly followed the sleeve until he found himself staring awestruck at its owner. Red blinked, but the vision did not vanish.

Standing over the now-unconscious Truant was a beautiful girl. Everything from her snowy hair to her almost pearly skin was astoundingly pale. Even her clothes were whitish, though rips and soot were visible on the fabric. A white headband held back her hair, which fell just long enough to skirt her jawbone. A thin white sweater, its sleeves tied together, was draped around her neck like a mantle. As this vision of grace looked down at him, Red knew that he was looking upon the mythical vagrant ghost.

In the dim light of the alley, the spirit's eyes had appeared the faintest blue. But as she turned around, they caught the bright setting sun and turned a deep red, the color of blood. Rendered speechless by this entrancing phenomenon, Red numbly realized that all of the wild stories he had laughed at were true. The phantom looked down at Red with ruby pupils, and then uttered one word in a soft, sympathetic voice.