Author: admin

Anita was thinking twice about this plan, especially the part where Rox dropped her off at the foot of a mile plus uphill climb. They’d spent a lot of time in hiding, and even in some of Linc’s wilderness shelters, there weren’t a lot of opportunities for cardio that didn’t also risk giving their position away. She was breathing heavy, her body hurting more than she wanted to admit, especially not to the kids she spent all of her time with these days.

“You smell the same,” Mayumi said, emerging from behind a tree. “Caught your scent from halfway across campus. Thought I must have been crazy. Of course, the last time you saw me, I didn’t remember me, let alone anybody else. Since I got the drop on you, I assume you didn’t scry for me.”

“Don’t scry for me, Argentina,” Anita said, halfway to a tune.

“Nervous?”

“I was afraid of what I’d see. Afraid I’d lose my nerve.”

“You worried I’ll hurt your feelings? Or just hurt you?” Anita didn’t respond as Mayumi stalked around her. “I debated pretending I didn’t know you. Try to figure out what you want, what game you’re playing this time. But I do know you, well enough not to expect you to tell me the truth, whether or not I’m a drooling homunculus.”

“I’m not sure that’s fair.”

“I’m sure it isn’t unfair.”

“That’s probably fair.”

“I should probably break all your limbs, drive you to Idaho and drop you at a Federal building; that I think would be fair.” Anita’s muscles tensed; she was really beginning to question the wisdom of coming unarmed. “But I’m trying not to be that person anymore. So we’ll walk back to the grocery store at the bottom of the hill, and give you a chance to explain to me why I shouldn’t indulge every angry impulse I’m feeling right now.”

“Because you’re a better person than me.”

“I am. Or I’d leave you with an infected gut wound, crippled and alone in a ditch.”

“I never literally did that.”

“Sounds like you’re arguing semantics to me. And that’s as likely as not to convince me to kill you and just be done with it.”

“You probably remember enough to know I’d be lying if I said you used to be fun.”

“That’s right.”

“You used to be less severe.”

“I was catatonic half the time. The other half I was being forced to do missions against my will or consent. The rest I was sobbing uncontrollably over the other two.”

“Still the math prodigy I remember.”

“Still too stupid to know when to keep your mouth shut. You used me.”

“You were a tool. And so was I. We were all being used, all the time. I don’t bitch about the missions you dragged me along for.”

“That’s because I wasn’t running those missions. I was just another tool, even then.”

“We both have a lot of scars from what they had us do.”

“The difference is most of yours were self-inflicted. You may have hated what we were doing, but at least you had a choice.”

“Did I? Could I have just upped stakes and gotten a job bagging groceries? They pumped billions into us. None of us got to walk away.”

“And yet?” Mayumi gestured at the open air they were both breathing.

“Neither of us walked, Mai. They owned us. For years. Eventually, more responsible people in the government asked questions about our deniable ops, and they pulled the plug. I went back to the Canadian Armed Forces; they sent you back to the Japan Self-Defense Forces, neither of whom really knew what to do with us. We both ended up doing wet work for a while, until we slipped the chain; we were enough trouble they didn’t bother looking for us afterward. That made us luckier than most of them. But make no mistake, we were all dogs lashed to the same sled. I was never the one holding the whip.”

“Yeah,” Mayumi said hotly. “Suppose that’s fair.”

“Besides, this isn’t about me. There’s a missing kid. Though I’m not going to lie. It might be about us.”

“I don’t date older women.”

“That was kind of a joke? Did it hurt?”

“My teeth, a little. Quit stalling, before I hurt yours.”

“The project we have such fond memories of being a part of. The kid disappeared a couple of klicks away.”

“Project’s long gone. Shriveled up and blown away. Most of the records destroyed, most of the personnel unpersoned.”

“Yeah. It’s probably not them. But it’s walking over our graves, nonetheless. I honestly wasn’t sure if it was better or worse to tell you ahead of time- at least as far as getting you to come and help.”

“Ahead of time, definitely. Because if I got there and realized where we were- well I’d probably feel bad enough to put your corpse in a hole, after I calmed down, but I can’t make any promises.”

“That mean you’re going to reward my honesty by helping out?”

“There’s a kid?” Mayumi asked.

“Feral, according to the reports.”

“They’d have a field day.”

“If so, so will we.”

“I’m in,” Mayumi said, “but there’s no joy in this for me.”

“Nor me. Can I say something?”

“Might be your funeral.”

Anita closed her eyes. “I’ll live. I nearly shat myself, first time I saw you on campus. I thought they’d tracked me down, sent you, either to bring me in, or to finish me. Either way, it was going to be the most painful day of my life. And then you stared right through me, like I was a ghost, or you were. And then I laughed at myself. You are a tiny, sprightly little thing; you barely break five feet. Though I’ve seen what you can do with those five feet… Anyway, it was after that that I looked into what happened to you; I knew you didn’t talk much back then, and I knew you didn’t remember much, mission to mission; I think they briefed me on that, once, but frankly they liked to keep all of us drugged and deprived between missions, because it kept us pliable. I didn’t know what they’d done to your head, or the extent of what that did to you. I was jealous, when I first saw you at the school. You getting to start over. Live a normal life. Be an actual fucking kid. Have other kid friends. I’m sorry, truly, that you’ve lost even a little of that innocence. But it feels really fucking good not being alone with what we went through. I can’t tell these fucking kids. They probably wouldn’t believe it. And even if they did- Christ, you can’t forgive me. Imagine how they’d react?”

“Yeah,” Mayumi said. “I know what you mean. But that only buys you so much rope. I’m not going to hesitate to pull on it.”

“Ooh. My safe word is M & Ms.”

“That feels like three words.”

“I like to be very safe,” she said.

“Then you should stop teasing me.”

“You know, you used to be fun.”

“You’re talking about a few minutes ago, when I kind of made a joke.”

“Yep. And only that once, for that one sentence. But I’m an optimist. Maybe you’ll tell another kind of joke again some day.”

“I wouldn’t bet my life on it,” Mayumi said. “And I wouldn’t count that.”  

Mikaela slept in, and when she finally did wake, it was to the sound of sweet little birds chirping outside of her window, greeting the noonday sun. It was a warm day, but with just enough of the crispness of morning to be invigorating. She remembered growing up, her father put the fear of the legal system into her, telling her it didn’t work for people like them, only against. But today her dad was wrong, and consequently, today, the world was right. Even waking up in yesterday’s clothes somehow felt right.

She kicked her feet out, found her shoes where she’d left them and began to tie them as she bounced happily on the edge of the bed to a song she couldn’t quite remember.

She even greeted the sound of her phone buzzing as a positive. It meant one of her friends needed her, and she had always appreciated being needed. The ID said it was Irene, and she answered. “Hey, Irene,” she said, the sing-song of her voice echoing the tune of the bird outside her window.

“He, uh,” Irene’s words came quick, punctuated, like she was trying to speak after a long sprint, or while being choked.

“Irene?” Mikaela asked, her pulse quickening. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she whimpered, her voice going higher. She made more noises that came out like grunts.

“Irene? Irene. I’m coming to you. It’ll be okay.” Mikaela grabbed her keys and wallet and ran out the front door, unlocking her phone as she went. She managed to tap off a message to Tucker to the speeding tempo of her pounding feet: “Irene called, freaking out, but can’t get a word out. Help!”

“She’s panicking.” Tucker’s text came back. “Having trouble breathing, and so, trouble talking.”

“911?” Mikaela texted back.

“No,” Tucker said. “Panic attack. Even if she manages to pass out, autonomic nervous system will regulate her breathing. She’ll be okay.”

“Unless the reason for her panic is an attack,” Mikaela said.

“She’s safe,” Tucker replied. “But she is going to need us.”

Mikaela didn’t have long to contemplate what Tucker meant as she leapt over a hole at the edge of a curb, landing on the sidewalk on Irene’s block. Tucker’s car pulled around the corner and parked in one of the spots in front of Irene’s apartment building as she passed.

“We need to be ready for a fight?” Mikaela asked, winded.

“You ran here? You made good time. And you do glisten pleasantly in this light.” Mikaela raised her eyebrows to emphasize her question. “Not inside, no.”

Tucker led the way up the stairs. He tried the door, and it opened. Irene was sitting in a chair with her head between her knees, gulping for air. “You okay?” Mikaela asked, dropping to one knee so she could rub Irene’s back.

“None of us are,” Tucker said, nodding in the direction of Irene’s laptop.

Scrolling across a screen showing video of the President, smiling as he walked past a line of flags, was a chyron that read, “Drump pardons militia who invaded Breed school.” “He’s declared open season on us,” Irene gasped. “We’ll never be safe again.”

“I never gave you this number,” Anita said angrily.

“I guess you knew I’d call,” Laren said. “And I got it from GPS data. One of the benefits of you keeping in remote locations, there aren’t a lot of phones to pick it out from.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t come in person; you annoy me more in person, which I know matters to you.”

“I don’t have nearly the problem with you that you have with me,” Laren said, her smile evident in her voice.

“Maybe. But I am, for lack of a better word, your rival. Being some of the only powered adults around a bunch of kids who, whatever they may think, desperately need guidance.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Laren said.

“Maybe I’m mistaken; sometimes realities can bleed together. Or maybe I just know something you don’t- or at least are playing at not knowing. But fine. I won’t belabor the point.”

“Good. You’ve belabored enough for one evening already, I’d think.”

“So why’d you call me, directly? You usually pass intel through Rox.”

“Well, I did, and I didn’t. She told me your team is somewhat spoken for. I think a smaller team could handle what I’m bringing to you, which is that a Breed kid has gone missing up in Canada, in the relative wilderness near the U.S. border.”

“You can’t mean-”

“I don’t mean anything,” Laren said. “Because I don’t know anything for certain. But there were definitely some… red flags in the files. A lot of redacted, need to know, you don’t have clearance for this bullshit, but a lot of it rhymes with what I’ve been able to access in your files. So I thought you’d want in. Just as importantly, we’re going to need a tracker, and I thought you might have an in with one- one who would have a similar interest as you in ferreting out what’s going on in Canada.”

“Mai.”

“You’ve got an in with her. I don’t. Rox… might, but getting her in and out of that campus, even relying on her luck…”

“You like stacking the deck, I get it. And I have every reason to want to go. Only… I don’t. You have no idea what I’ve done to try and forget that place.”

“I think you forget I work for the government. We have a very thorough record of just what you’ve done. And believe me or not on this, but Anita, I think you need this. I think you’ve spent years running from what happened, and you may never be whole without standing up to it.”

“Or maybe I’ll just never be whole,” Anita said angrily.

“Maybe. And I can’t force you to do anything. I won’t even pressure you. But there’s a scared, feral kid missing up in the great white north. It would help if you went with Rox. And I don’t just mean it would help the kid.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I was asking for. I imagine she’ll be there any second.”

“You ready?” Rox asked, poking her head around the corner.

Anita hung up her phone. “I haven’t decided if I’m going yet.”

“Oh,” Rox said, “why’s that?”

“Because it could get… personal. In a way I’m not sure I’m ready for.”

Rox sat down opposite her. “You want to talk about it?”

Anita took a deep breath, and let it out slowly as she pondered how much she was willing to say. “My ability… isn’t completely natural. Growing up in Vancouver, I could see a little, but never clearly, or very far ahead. I enrolled in a program. There were seven of us, representing the seven most advanced countries in the world at the time. They partnered up, looking for both a solution to the nascent Breed problem, but probably more importantly, trying to figure out a way to weaponize us- to make that problem into a strength. According to the propaganda they just wanted to put us through our paces, figure out what we could do, and see if there was any way to help us do it better. The truth turned out to be a lot more Mengele than Lalanne. They broke us down, physically, mentally, sometimes at the genetic level; and I’m not talking boot camp. I’m talking the kind of utter personal destruction some of us never came back from, and those of us who are… functional bear some pretty damn deep scars.”

“Is that why you’re…”

“We all cope with trauma differently. Turns out I’m an anxious talker. And I’m anxious almost all the time.”

“Even assuming there are government agencies there, it can’t be the same program, though, right? It’s been,” she paused, starting at Anita, “years, since then, right?”

“You were trying to do the math to figure out if it was ‘decades?’ I hate children…” she glared. “Though you have a point. Clandestine military/intelligence programs aren’t known for putting down long-term roots.” She sighed. “No promises, but… I’ll think about it. In the meantime, I’ll talk to Mai. Hopefully she doesn’t remember me too well.”

“Or she’ll definitely want to punch you?”

“Or she definitely won’t work with me.”

“But if she doesn’t remember you at all…” “Yeah, we have to hope we’re in that sweet spot. Or she’s not helping, and I’m getting the hell kicked out of me.”

“I just wanted to say thanks, to all of you,” Irene said, folding her hands in her lap from her seat in the middle of the courtroom bench. “I know this trial is about all of us- and protecting all of us- but it still feels really nice you’re all here. Like you’re supporting me being here.”

“We’re supporting each other,” Mikaela said gently. They were seated on the side where the prosecutor’s table was. Students and faculty made up the bulk of that side of the room.

“Yeah,” Irene said. “I like that better. I may have to run things by you, to remove some of the narcissism.”

“Judge is coming back,” Tucker said, a moment before the judge pushed his way through a door behind his seat.

“All rise,” the bailiff said.

Irene was the first to stand, and the others followed suit, before they all abruptly sat back down with the rest of the gallery. Irene glanced nervously at Tucker, whose face was conspicuously expressionless. They locked eyes, and Tucker pantomimed locking his mouth, and tossed the imaginary key over his shoulder. “You know, don’t you?” Irene mouthed, and Tucker was surprised an instant later to hear the words clearly in his ear, like she’d whispered it while they were cheek to cheek.

Tucker nodded once, then nodded back in the direction of the judge. “Madame Foreperson, have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked.

She handed the bailiff a folded piece of paper. “We have, your honor.”

“And were the verdicts unanimous?” he asked, as the bailiff handed the paper to him.

“Yes, your honor.”

“Very well,” he said, and began unfolding the paper. The judge’s breath caught in his throat a moment, before he said, “I’ll end the suspense now. The defendants have been found guilty on all charges.” The gallery erupted, half in shock and horror, and the other half in celebration. The judge banged his gavel. “I’m going to need you all to remain quiet. I’ll read an enumerated list of the charges aloud, along with the verdict for each. Anybody who can’t hold it in, whatever your ‘it’ might be, is invited to take it outside into the hallway.” One of the defendants rose from the table, and started towards the door. “Nice try, Mr. Batts; take your seat.” He shrugged, and went back to his chair.

“Think I need to go,” Irene said, standing. Tucker followed her, and sat on a bench beside her just outside the courtroom.

“I told the others to stay,” he said. “I can still watch the verdict through Mikaela’s eyes. I can patch you in, if you want.”

“No,” Irene said, shivering. “I lived through it; I mean, we all did, but… I don’t need to hear the highlights now.”

“Understandable,” Tucker said.

“I tried reading all the charges, when they first asked me to testify. And it was… overwhelming. It was almost more than I could take, just what they did to me, but it was a literal army of bigots running roughshod over the campus. We all could have died that day, and what’s probably most terrifying is fully half of people would have celebrated it.”

“And the other half will celebrate what happened here today.”

“Right. How the hell do you handle that? I guess, we could feel lucky, that the world isn’t completely bigoted and homicidal- but I feel like that’s still way too much.”

“It’s a glass half full of watery diarrhea.”

“I’ve never liked that analogy. The glass, unless it’s in a vacuum, is always full. It’s just half-full of air as well as liquid. I don’t know if the liquid being diarrhea makes anything any clearer.”

“I’ve never seen it clear,” Tucker frowned, “I’m not sure if that’s a sign of clean, healthy living or something being truly wrong.”

“Just this moment I believe you and Iago are related by blood.”

“Everyone has one of those revelations eventually. I like to think it’s because there’s something unbelievably impressive about us.”

“I know you’re trying to distract me, and not just repulse me… but I think I’m going to be okay. It’s over. We won. Good triumphed. The bad guys will see honest, actual consequences. It’s not as good as there never being an armed insurgency at our school… but if this is normal? I could live with it, is what I’m saying.”

“That’s good, because my distractions were going to get a lot less subtle and a lot more graphic from this point forward.”

“Glad we didn’t do that, then,” Irene said. “And thanks. For driving me here to testify. For today. For just this second.” She pecked him on the cheek. “I don’t know how I would have gotten through all of this without you.” “It probably would have been Iago making diarrhea jokes. The kiss would have been more awkward, though. He’d have made sure of it.”

Ben could feel the grinding of the clock’s gears in his head, or was he grinding his teeth in time with it? It had been too long since they’d seen Cris, and Ben didn’t know what he’d do if he encountered even one more loss.

It seemed like a perfect gig, when Sonya asked him to take over listening to the radio. It gave him an excuse to be quiet, and spend time away from his friends. The quiet was hard, but it was worse, feeling isolated in a room full of friends.

Because every broadcast would sap Cris’ battery, they were waiting for him to make the first move. But it was taking too long. They all, idly, speculated about having to burst through the walls of the compound; Ben was the only one of them, though he knew better than to say anything, who knew a rescue wasn’t a chance to play the hero; they’d only find more death there.

“Ben,” Anita said, her voice softer than he could ever remember hearing it; lighter still was her hand on his shoulder. “I should take over.”

“Why?” he asked. “It’s not like I’ve got some place to be.”

“No, but you’ve got more than enough to deal with.” His eyebrows shot up. “You should let me take it from here.”

“You know,” he said, sounding defeated.

“If your goal was to keep it a secret, you’re doing kind of a lousy job. They all know something’s wrong. They don’t know what. I’ve kept your secret, and I will; it’s yours to tell, when you’re ready.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You’ve suffered an… unimaginable loss. It doesn’t need to be the right way or the right time. They love you. And they want to be there for you.”

“They need me to be strong. Especially while Cris is in harm’s way.”

“They need you to be present. Not a zombie. And not up your own ass with grief. And if I’ve learned anything with all of you, it’s that the world never really goes back to sanity. The next crazy thing comes at you before you can find your footing. One of us, maybe most of us, will always been in harm’s way. And… we’re all going to experience loss. I can’t say how, for sure, but I know there isn’t a one of us who won’t be right where you are eventually. And if we don’t figure out how to handle our loss while the world keeps on spinning, eventually our little world will break, or we will, into a thousand little pieces.”

She pulled him out of his chair and to his feet, then yanked him to her shoulder. The motion pushed most of the air from his lungs, and he exhaled raggedly against her neck. She put her arms around him and he enveloped her in a giant bear hug, before setting her down. “Fuck,” he said, “I needed that.”

“I know. And you’ll need a whole lot more before this is through. Trust me, as someone who has been a lone wolf most of her adult life, let people in. They want to be here for you just as desperately as you need them to be here for you. Just let them in.”    

“And what about you?” he asked. “You’ve been with us a long time. And… this is the most of the real you I think I’ve ever seen. Not that I don’t get playing the clown. Or understand your anger- I think we all do. But you’ve been with us for a long time. You’re one of us. You don’t have to keep… playing at being someone else.”

“I wish that were true. I wish I were just another classmate, another kid caught up in a world that isn’t ready for the change that’s coming to it; I’ve been on the other side of that fight, trying for all the world to keep things like they are. I don’t like me very much; moment to moment, I can be fun, but… to say I’m not proud of who I’ve been really doesn’t cover it. If I thought I could get away with just… stepping out of frame, I would. But somehow things get even worse if I’m not here. Which given my track record of monumentally making things worse is impressive.”

“Who cares?” Ben asked. “We might all of us be considered terrorists for the rest of our days, but we know that, when push finally came to shove, we fought back. For ourselves, for people who couldn’t. I don’t know what sins you think you’ve committed, but that kind of sacrifice compensates for a lot of mistakes.”

“Who cares?” Anita asked, pondering the question, a furtive little smile crossing her lips. She closed her eyes, and after a few seconds, she frowned, and sighed. “You will. I imagine most of you will. And that truth will out. Some days I feel like I’m… holding in a breath, but I can’t hold it in forever. The attempt is killing me; I’m pretty sure the failure will, too.”

“I think you think too much,” Ben said. “And should heed your own advice. I think people might surprise you.”

“They usually don’t,” she said. “But I’ll think about it.”

“No,” Ben said, “don’t think about it. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’ve done something so wrong, so unforgiveable, that I will be angry with you when it finally comes out. But that’s not the end of the story, either- and you’re not giving us enough credit by pretending it is. You think if Mira showed up tomorrow we wouldn’t greet her with smiles, hugs and a baffling amount of affection? We protect the people we care about. From the world. From themselves. From the things they can’t forgive themselves for. Because you might not ever forgive yourself, but I can.”

“But will you?” “Honestly? I seriously doubt anything you’ve actually done could be worse than what we’ve all been picturing. And even if it is… that’s just further proof of what it must have taken for you to crawl out of that hole. None of us are the worst thing we’ve ever done. But if we’re going to honor those who aren’t here to continue pushing for change, we have a duty to be better, to do better, every day. You have. I think you’ll keep doing that. So when I say, ‘Who cares?’ I say it because no one should care who you used to be, because what matters is who you are, and who you’re going to try to be tomorrow. And you get to decide who that’s going to be. And I think you’re going to be fine.”

“Anything?’ Rox asked, sitting opposite Anita. The rest of the house was dark, and silent. In the middle of the table was a walkie. Anita’s hand hovered near it, even as she tried desperately not to look at it.

“Can’t sleep?” Anita asked.

“No. You?”

“The stress has my nerves a tangled mess. It’s messing with my foresight; I can’t see anything clearly, but seeing fever-dreams of Cris torn literally limb from limb in a concentration camp is a tough thing to pretend you didn’t see.”

“Any idea on the likelihood?”

“I wouldn’t put a lot of money on it. I mean, I have had cause to tear someone’s limb off. It’s not a simple task. Even cutting away a lot of the skin, there’s a whole lot of meat and sinew and… unless we assume it’s another Breed, or some very determined bigots, it’s probably a long shot. But I’ve seen a fair few of those come true in my day; your crummy President being exhibit A.”

“Yeah,” Rox said, giving a depressive chuckle. “I have to assume there’s someone else out there with an ability like mine, but in reverse- only they cursed the whole fricking country, maybe the planet.”

“That’d be kind of nice, actually,” Anita said. “There being some rhyme or reason to the world. Sadly, in my experience, there really isn’t. There are bigots, the congenitally cruel, the greedy beyond all understanding… but shit doesn’t happen for a reason. We suffer, pointlessly, until one day we stop.”

“Okay, we are switching you to decaf, and whatever the opposite of hard liquor is.”

“40 beers?”

“1 beer, if you promise to be less maudlin.” Anita glared. “Hear this with all due affection: I am a teenaged girl, on the run from my country, fighting against forces that would rather we stop existing, whose available romantic prospects are two dudes more interested in not showering than in me, and guaranteed friendship-ruining lesbian trysts. With all of that, you’re depressing me.”

“Fair enough. 1 beer.” Anita held out her hand.

“I’m not getting it for your lazy ass.”

Anita sighed, and kicked out of her seat. “Then what’s to stop me from drinking all the beer?”

“That somehow you have the second tiniest bladder among us, after Tso, and that if you try, I’ll focus my powers on you and you will have a hilarious accident. Or 39.”

“You’re a tyrant,” Anita said, dropping back in her seat with a beer, and handing one across the table to Rox.

“I’m just trying to keep us all sane in an insane world,” they clinked bottles.  

“I don’t know. It’s a noble pursuit… but I’ve usually found there’s wisdom in embracing the insanity.”

“Yeah, well, most of us can’t see the future to avoid the worst mistakes that would come out of that.”

“You can, functionally,” Anita said. “And I’ve been nuts, off and on. I don’t think you go through what I did- what we did- completely whole. Sometimes you’ve just got let yourself be crazy. Not all the time, but… sometimes the most damaging thing you can do to yourself and those around you is deny how… utterly broken you are.”

“Isn’t that your whole thing, though?” Rox asked.

“You’d think, right?” Anita asked, and took a swig. “But no. Most days I’m on the same wavelength as Tso; the world, generally speaking, needs to relax, and not take itself so fucking seriously. Of course, the last few days he’s been more on my other wavelength.”

“He has been… distant. I figured he was just worried about Cris.”

“Right,” Anita said. “You don’t know yet.”

“Know what?”

“Ben’s having a really hard time. More than that, it isn’t my place to say. But he’ll tell you, when he’s ready. Until then, be extra gentle with him.”

“You know this is fucked up, right? He’s one of my closest friends.” She closed her eyes and sighed angrily. “Can you tell me anything?”

“It’s going to be a really long time before Ben’s world feels sane again. And in the interim, we really need to take extra care of each other.”

“Is that why you’re hovering over the radio?” Rox asked.

“The uncertainty kicked into high gear once we chose to use a walkie.”

“We knew they’d take his phone. And they have; he’s not responding to texts or calls- but we expected that. It was both gross and cool, your idea of implanting a gutted radio in his wrist.”

“We can only use it for Morse code, but that’s something. Of course, he’s only got enough battery to last a few days, even using it sparingly. And there’s always the possibility it broke when they kicked him half to death.”

“I meant it when I said less maudlin,” Rox said with a grin, taking a sip, “or I’m taking your beer away.”

“I’d like to see you try. I will bite your hand.”

Rox’s eyes narrowed.

“I mean, I’d lose a tooth doing it, but that sounds worth it to me.” Rox cocked her head to the side. “Yeah, that I could see clear. So, as long as it’s within the next ten seconds, and within five feet of me, my foresight is sharp as ever.” Rox took another swig, then gave the remaining half of it to Anita.

“Finish the beers, then get some rest. Maybe that will jog you. Even if it doesn’t, it’ll do you good to sleep. I’ll watch the radio.”

“What about you?”

“I always figured we’d take shifts; I figured I’d take the first one, but you’ve been guarding that radio like it was your only cub to survive the litter. I promise, the first yahoo who wakes up I will fill full of coffee and make take the next shift. Like you said. We’ve got to take care of one another, and to do that, we also have to take care of ourselves.”

Anita finished off both beers, then belched loudly. “I will take you up on it, but only because I’m seeing double, and I don’t think it’s the alcohol doing that.”

“Go to bed. And I better not catch you up there playing Nintendo.”

“You’re not my real mom.”

“It’s… and don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s hard to picture you having a mom. Like… I’m sure you did, but you feel more like you popped out of a factory fully formed.”

“Well, the me you know and… grudgingly tolerate, was born in a lab. Hardly recognize the girl I was, or the woman who stubbornly refused to raise me in any conventional meaning of the word.”

“That sucks,” Rox said. “Eh,” Anita said with a shrug. “It was another lifetime ago. And I don’t think we have enough liquor in the house to cover that conversation, so I’m going to bed.”

“I’m telling you, we’re fine, mom,” Tucker said, adjusting the cushion on the sofa. “You didn’t have to come all the way here; you could have called or something.”

“Really?” she asked. “Because it looks like a stampede came through here.”

“Just a few friends over, and we just had a few drinks.” Her mother led her eyes to a cemetery of dead soldiers on the counter. “One of those ‘few’ might have been an understatement.”

“And are you using protection?”

“I tried. I put a condom on a beer, but it kept me from being able to drink it. Kind of spoiled the fun.”

“You know what I mean.” She picked up one of the bottles and turned it over in her hand thoughtfully, before setting it back down. “I think you and Iago should come home.”

“Why?” Tucker asked, annoyance showing in his voice.

“Because you’re not safe here.”

“And we would be at home?”

“I know you and Iago are good kids. But the rest of these Breed…”

“You think my fellow students are the threat? As opposed to the bigot gun-humping militia all but sicced on us by your President, with the sycophantic backing of your party.”

“That’s not fair. I don’t support the hateful rhetoric they spout about your… kind.”

“And what form does your lack of support take? Because if it’s quiet disapproval, a glare and a wagged finger at the dining room TV, they don’t care. They don’t even know about it. In fact, they take your silence as approval; the rest of us see it as complicity.”

“You’re not being fair to me.”

Tucker sighed. “Fairness really doesn’t enter into it. You’re tacitly supporting a lot of really bad things. And it really doesn’t matter if you personally approve of those bad things or not. You might not personally feel disproportionately disenfranchising people of color is right, but your party does, and you support them, which they take as approval. You might not personally agree with a travel ban on ‘certain kinds’ of people of color, but your party does. You might not support all the hate spilled on LGBT people, the assault on our rights or our dignity, but you support the party that does.”

“I’m not a bigot, Tucker.”

“Mom… I know what’s in your heart, and in your head. But what you need to understand is that doesn’t matter. You support a bigot. A racist. A homophobe. A transphobe. You support a political party that wants to strip me and everyone I care about of rights. Right now, if they had their way, people like me, like Iago, we would be in cages, mom, just because we’re different. If you think you can support something like that without becoming a monster yourself, you’re wrong. And I have to believe the person you are would want to stop being wrong.”

“I’m not a bigot,” she repeated bitterly.

“And what you refuse to hear is it doesn’t matter. If you do bigoted things, if you enable bigoted outcomes, if you have thrown in with bigots, you are marching with a bigoted army. Not every Nazi was an anti-Semite, homophobe or racist; that didn’t do anyone who they killed in the Holocaust a lick of good. I’m begging you- do better, mom. Because someone I care about is going to get hurt, and I will blame you for it- I will never forgive you for it.”

“I should go. Before one of us says something we can’t take back.”

“You already have,” Tucker said, as his mother shut the apartment door, the screen door clattering noisily in her wake.

CW: Cris is let into the general detention facility among the other children. Most are sleeping, a few are weeping, one is despondently punching the floor. I struggled with adding a warning to this one. It was a hard chapter to write, and it’s just as hard to read, but it kind of should be read for that reason. Because we did this. And maybe aren’t doing it on the same scale, but we still are, and we need to understand that ugly truth.

Cris was still uneasy on his feet; most of the healing was done, but his knees buckled with every step he took. He was glad to see a friendly face waiting at the gate when the guard unlocked it, and closed him inside. “I was worried, when I woke up and you were gone,” he said.

“I’m about halfway through my EMT training, so they let me help out in the infirmary. But I don’t stay there all day. A girl needs to get her vitamin D.” Angela gestured at the ceiling, and the sickly-looking fluorescent lights fifty feet overhead.

“This used to be a warehouse,” Cris said.

“Still is. Only the ‘wares’ it houses now are people.”  

Fully half of the kids on this side of the fence were curled up under flimsy foil sheets, the kind that came packed in emergency kits. “They don’t turn off the lights?”

“That little twinge of humanity you’re feeling? They don’t have that. You’re just lucky it’s late. Come the morning, this place will be a chorus of crying children, whimpering for their parents. You’ll have to hear it eventually, but this way, maybe you get one good night’s sleep before it haunts you for the rest of your life.”

That was when Cris heard it, the slap of meat against something that didn’t give. There was a moment’s silence, before it was filled with a half-choked off sob, and another crack. This time he followed the sound with his eyes, to a toddler, alone, near the corner of the enclosure, sobbing and pounding her fists on a mat.

“Not sure that’s the,” Angela stopped, as Cris started across the room at a brisk pace, “crap.” She rushed after him. He was kneeled beside the toddler before she caught up to him.

“Hi,” he said. “Hey.” She bashed the mat again, neither seeing nor hearing him through her tears. Her tiny fists were cracked and bloody, and he couldn’t help but wonder how long she’d been at this. “Hey,” he said, gently touching her shoulder. She leapt back, scurrying across the floor in a crabwalk. “It’s okay,” Cris said, holding out his hand. “I know it’s scary. I know you feel alone right now. But I’m here to help.” Her tiny face contorted with anguish, as her fragile mind tried to understand if he really was safe, but even the possibility was too much, and she ran at him, hitting him hard enough she knocked him onto his back. She stared at him, terrified he might react angrily. He laughed. “I think you have a bright future as a tackle.” She grabbed onto his leg. “Is that a position, or just a thing you do?”

“Yeah, something told me you weren’t much the football type,” Angela said.

“Can I see your hands?” Cris asked. The toddler wouldn’t let go of his leg, so he balled his hands around her and the fabric she was clutching.

“Wait,” Angela did her best to block what he was doing from view, as his hands started to glow.

“See?” Cris asked, wiping the toddler’s hands off on his pants, to reveal that her hands were healed. She stared down at her hand for an instant, before jumping at this neck and latching on.

Cris stood, lifting the toddler with him because she wasn’t about to let go of him. Already, he could hear another child nearby weeping, muffled very slightly by a foil sheet. “What the hell happened to this country?” Cris asked, the words shuddering out of his mouth.

“You’re not from around here, right?”

“You are?”

“Born in Texas. They burned my documentation in front of me, then took me into custody; I have duplicates, but no way to get to them. But I asked the question because it’s been fucked up here. My grand dad got beaten nearly to death after 9/11, because apparently bigots can’t tell the difference between a Guatemalan and a Saudi Arabian- most of whom weren’t in on the terror attacks, by the way. Dad got deported a few years ago, because he had a name similar to a cartel smuggler. It wasn’t worth the hassle to come back, so I haven’t seen him since. So you ask what happened? America took the mask off. I guess I always knew she wasn’t a looker, but I’ll admit some shock as to just how ugly she really is.”

“Jesus,” Cris whispered.

“That’s a lot of the problem. American Jesus doesn’t give a shit; his followers, even less so. They’ve got a new messiah now. A cruel fucking orange one.”