Truancy Origins (30 page)

“Well, now's as good a time to practice as any.”

 

R
ealizing that the soapy water was losing its heat, Umasi reluctantly rose from the tub and reached over to a nearby stool for a towel. As he exited the bath, wisps of steam rose with him and coiled their way to the ceiling. Ignoring the sudden chill as he left the water, Umasi hastily dried himself off, pausing only for a moment to savor the refreshing sensation of being
clean.

It was more than just a hygienic matter. Umasi now felt more energized and alert than he had in a long time. Casting a glance at the bathwater, Umasi noted that it was nearly black with soot. Well, that was hardly surprising. Soon after deciding to settle down in District 19, Umasi had realized that it had been a long time since he'd had a bath.

While there was still running water in District 19, Umasi hadn't been able to find a building with a working boiler. Consequently, he had been forced to boil his own over a stove in large pots. It had been tedious work, but well worth it in the end. It was just too bad that the water didn't keep its heat for very long in this weather.

Humming idly to himself, Umasi drained the tub and donned some new clothing—not just some new rags from a Dumpster, but actually
new
clothing. He had gone shopping out of necessity the previous day, discreetly withdrawing cash at one location before spending it elsewhere. Aside from a heap of groceries and a fresh wardrobe, he had also bought things like soap and blankets. It had taken several trips to carry it all, but Umasi had enjoyed feeling like he was creating a new life for himself.

Now dressed in a simple white sweater and warm khaki pants, Umasi left the bathroom and entered the living room of the apartment he'd claimed for his own. It was rather dirty with disuse, but he expected that he'd have ample time to clean it up later. On one table rested all the groceries that he'd bought the previous day that wouldn't fit into the still-working refrigerator, and on another rested packs of alcoholic lemonade—a beverage he'd never tried before, but had bought on a whim.

Right now Umasi wasn't interested in either pile, and instead walked over to a kitchen counter to seize a sports bottle and attach it to his waist. He then proceeded to the door, where he donned a new pair of boots before stepping out of the apartment and onto the streets of District 19. Umasi was pleased to see the pale morning sun set the remaining snow aglitter. No one plowed the streets of District 19, and he rather liked the crunch that his boots produced as they trampled the snow underfoot.

Enjoying the crisp winter air, Umasi began to jog around the district, retreading along the footsteps he had left the evening before. He might not have been a vagrant anymore, but having had to struggle for his life had instilled in him a strange need to stay active—and so he jogged, feeling more refreshed with each passing block.

After he had run far enough through the snow to leave his muscles burning and his chest heaving, Umasi paused to take a break, sitting down upon a doorstep as he took a swig from his bottle. He was about to return to his jog when he thought he heard something. Freezing in place, Umasi listened closely. Yes, there it was, a crunching sound, clearly made by footsteps, drawing closer. But that was impossible. No vagrant in their right mind would seek refuge in District 19.

Umasi frowned. What if it was an Enforcer, come to try to bring him back? The footsteps didn't sound quite that heavy, though, and he was sure that no Enforcer would be exploring an abandoned district alone, on
foot no less. It
had
to be a child. But would it be a vagrant or one of Zen's Truants?

A moment later, the source of the noise rounded the block and stopped short as it spotted Umasi. Umasi, for his part, wasn't able to see the boy as anything but a blur at a distance; his eyeglasses were one relic of his past that he had yet to replace. But as the boy approached slowly, as if unable to believe what he was seeing, Umasi realized to his surprise that he had met this vagrant before. It was the kid from the supermarket raid—Red, he had said his name was.

Red stopped short a few feet away from Umasi, and Umasi took the opportunity to examine him up close. The boy was covered in dirt, streaks of black concealing what would have, under better circumstances, probably have been a handsome face. His head was covered with wild, untamed brown hair, which matched his amber eyes. He was unnaturally scrawny, but something about him testified to a hidden strength. The look on his face and in his eyes spoke of great maturity and intense hardship.

Umasi was amused to see that Red had a look of complete shock on his face. Apparently the vagrant was more surprised by this reunion than he was.

“Hello there,” Umasi said as he stood. “I didn't expect to be getting any visitors around here. I understand that vagrants consider this a risky place to be.”

“Yeah,” Red managed, seemingly uncertain that the person before him wasn't a stress-induced hallucination.

“Are you lost?” Umasi inquired.

“Uh . . . I don't think I am,” Red replied, flustered.

“Well then, you must be here on purpose,” Umasi reasoned as he held out his bottle. “Care for a drink?”

 

C
hris fumed as he strode along the darkened streets of District 13. Nearly all the vagrants of District 15 had already joined the Truancy, and so it had fallen to him to recruit in the lower districts that he was so familiar with. He hadn't taken well to this task; after being in charge for so long, running around like some errand boy seemed more ignominious to him than eating trash. And that kid Z had the nerve to complain about Chris' performance. Didn't he understand that he was lucky that Chris had helped him at all? Didn't he understand what Chris could do?

Apparently not, and so Chris had decided to show him. Approaching a run-down phone booth, Chris furtively glanced around to make sure he was alone. Seeing no one in the growing darkness, he quickly began dialing a very special number. He had powerful friends, and the Truancy would
soon pay the price for insulting him. His only regret was that that bastard Red had seemingly vanished, and would not be there to die with them.

“This is Enforcer Headquarters, how can I help you?”

“Yeah, this is Chris, I'm an informant,” Chris said, smiling into the receiver. “I'd like to—”

“Let me forward you to our tips division.”

Chris felt a flash of annoyance, but kept his cool as his call was transferred.

“Yes?”

“This is Chris. I'm a regular, my name should be down on the list.”

“Ah yes, yes it is. We were very pleased with your last two tip-offs. Over two dozen vagrants killed, very impressive. Do you have more vagrants to turn in?”

“Better,” Chris said, unable to contain his excitement. “I need to come into a station again. I got some
very
interesting information you should hear.”

“Hold on a second, Chris,” the operator said. “It seems that Chief Truancy Officer Rothenberg has left a note concerning you. It says to let you know the next time you make contact that he needs to meet you in person as soon as possible.”

“R-Rothenberg?” Chris said, feeling a jolt of fear at the name. Then he laughed at himself. Why was he afraid? Rothenberg was on his side! What's more, the man actually needed him! “Tell Rothenberg I'll see him first thing tomorrow, then. They'll notice me missing if I go tonight, I think.”

“He will be expecting you,” the operator promised before cutting the line.

Chris hung up and grinned in triumph. If the Enforcers had been pleased before, they would be ecstatic now that he could deliver an armed rebellion to them on a silver platter. It was only a matter of time now until Chris could retire to the living districts under Enforcer protection.

With that pleasant thought in his head, Chris proceeded to his original destination. Until he could get the Enforcers to come along and mop up the Truancy, he would have to play along with their little game. This meant continuing to go through the motions of recruiting vagrants. Deep into District 15, Chris soon found what he was looking for; the smoke and firelight stood out in the otherwise abandoned district. Before making himself visible, Chris approached silently and peeked out at the camp from behind a corner.

Small fires had been ignited in garbage cans and metal barrels, and around them milled about an assorted bunch of vagrants. He could tell from their behavior that they were not a gang; they were too guarded for
that, and yet they seemed somewhat familiar with each other. The camp was typical of vagrants: someone built a fire, and its warmth drew others like moths. Even as he watched, a vagrant wearing a winter jacket with a hood pulled over his head appeared from a nearby alley and moved in to warm his hands around a fire. Deciding that it was safe enough, Chris made his move.

“Hey there, guys!” he said cheerfully, moving out into the open. “Nice, cozy place you got here.”

The vagrants all spun around to stare at him.

“Who are you and what do you want?” someone demanded, voicing the question that was obviously on all of their minds.

“Relax, guys, I'm on your side,” Chris said. “I'm Chris, but right now I'm talking for the Truancy.”

“The Truancy?” a vagrant repeated. “What's that?”

“A rebellion,” Chris replied. “A bunch of kids out to beat the Educators. Hard to believe, yeah, but these people are serious. They like to talk about freedom and good stuff like that—but between you and I, there are much better reasons to join up.”

“And what're those?” another vagrant demanded.

“Guns. Food and drink. Warm beds,” Chris said. “But of course, if things later go south, I, probably like most of you, would ditch, and take what I can with me.”

“So you'd just screw your buddies, after all they do for you?” the hooded vagrant demanded from his place by the fire.

“Hey, just pointing out that there's nothing to lose here,” Chris said defensively, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“And what would the Truancy ask of us in return?” a vagrant demanded.

“Just that you fight the Educators and their Enforcers,” Chris said, a statement that sparked murmurs among the group. “And also that you take orders from the boss, a guy that likes to be called Z. He's tightfisted with money and thinks he's cleverer than he is, but I guess he's a match for the Educators.” Chris yawned. “So, if you're interested, all you have to do is come to District 15. The more that come along together, the better the chances are that Z will reward m—I mean, us.”

And with that, Chris made an ironic salute and spun around to leave the camp. As soon as Chris was out of sight, excited conversation broke out among the vagrants. Most of them did indeed know each other, and many seemed wary of the Truancy and especially the one claiming to be its messenger. One of the vagrants, seeking a fresh opinion, turned to address his neighbor, the quiet boy by the fire whose face had been obscured by his hood.

“Hey, you, I ain't seen you around before,” the vagrant said. “Whaddya think 'bout that guy? Is he nuts or what?”

“I don't think he's nuts,” Gabriel answered, lifting his hood for the first time that night. “But I do think he's a traitor.”

 

Y
eah, yeah, so then I told him I wasn't going to help him kill anyone!” Umasi said, his voice slightly slurred as he took another swig of lemonade liquor. “And what do you think he did then?”

“Wait, wait, don't help me, I know this.” Red furrowed his brow in thought as he took a sip from his own bottle. “Did he . . . uh . . . I dunno, do a dance?”

“No!” Umasi shook his head violently. “Zen, he doesn't dance. No, no, he hit me over the head with a bat, that's what he did!”

“He didn't!” Red gasped in disbelief.

“He did,” Umasi insisted mournfully. “And then he ran off, and I chased after him, and a few . . . a few snows later, and I end up here.”

Red paused to digest the boy's story. It was a strange and wild tale, almost as fantastical as Red's encounter with the vagrant ghost, and yet he didn't doubt its truth for a moment. The alcohol they had been sharing might have had something to do with that, but even when he was completely sober Red had felt, somehow, that Umasi was completely trustworthy.

At first Red had been too stunned at meeting Umasi again to question his hospitality, and so far Umasi had been nothing but generous and had asked nothing in return. Normally Red would've been suspicious of such selfless behavior, but as strange as Umasi was, he wasn't tripping any of Red's internal alarms. He seemed almost as good as Zen (the boy Red now knew was his twin) had been bad. In fact, Red actually found his company to be enjoyable. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to sit around another human being and not worry about being killed or robbed.

It was night now, and the two of them sat by a large bonfire they had built in the middle of the street outside of Umasi's apartment. Umasi's speech had been rather guarded when Red first encountered him, but a couple of bottles later they found themselves much more talkative. Umasi had wasted no time in telling Red his story, and Red had been relieved to find out that the boy named Zen was human after all, if especially dangerous. Now that he knew who led the Truancy, Red felt assured that he had had a narrow escape by evading it.

After explaining his brother's saga, Umasi's story began twisting and turning, taking a few detours along the way, and they soon found themselves a bit distracted.

“Bubble gum is cool,” Red said, “but not as good as . . . what did you say this stuff was?”

“Hard lemonade,” Umasi replied, reading the label.

“Yeah. Alcohol. My dad, see . . . he didn't drink much . . . at least not that I ever saw,” Red said, putting his bottle down for a moment. “Always working, you see.”