A crew of teens and pre-teens and I make our way down a street a few blocks off the Strip in Vegas, where the less grandiose buildings were built to support the once-glorious skyline that offered entertainment and the promise of riches to those foolish enough to be dazzled by the glitz and glamor of it all. Nowadays, the only glitz we get is the shine of the world on whatever drug the local dealer is selling by the kiosk.
The War of Warlords, the Warlord Period, Era, Apocolypse: there are many names for it, take your pick, most of the street gangs do; destroyed much of the infrastructure in cities like this in a grab for power as the System that the Empress of Humanity shoved upon us paved a path to power for everyone, and not just the ones who had already possessed it. Turns out there are a lot of determined psychopaths in the world.
The past has no bearing on our search for food, however, so me and my rats (the teens), and the few grubs (pre-teens) that tag along to help carry stuff and learn from us, are patrolling a familiar area looking for hidey holes or strays to roll up on. Instead of strays, however, we find a pack of mongrels.
I motion for my troupe to scatter, as I recognize the teen posted on the street as one that sells drugs and food for ‘company’.
The feral System initiate eyeballs me as I approach, looking at my various parts to try and figure out who and what I am. I should be used to these looks by now, there are a lot of street gangs in Vegas, and the boys that initiated into the System without guidance or direction like to think that they’re the cocks of the walk when it comes to orphan groups that can’t get into orphanages or other assisted housing. The streets are basically a training ground for our future usefulness to larger organizations, such as the Warram Group, the Wasteland Aces, or a few gangs that fled Los Angeles during the Warlord Period.
“Keep staring at me like that and I’m going to get offended.” I say in a playful tone, attempting to disguise the rage roiling at the base of my skull. My fist clinches around the knuckles I have in my pocket.
“Huh, you are a girl. With no tits and that haircut, it’s going to be hard to convince one of the boys to take care of you.” He grins and takes a second look at my body, nodding after his greasy gaze reconsiders my ‘fuckability’. His friends shake their heads and get back to their card game.
I leap at the skeevy ass as soon as his buddies are distracted and the feral initiate squawks in surprise just before I crash my brass laden fist into his mouth. Dazed and shocked, the boy only manages to fall back in an attempt to create distance. I pounce on him and land two heavy hooks to the side of his head before rushing the card-playing group.
A gaggle of teens and pre-teens erupt from the nearby rubble with pipes, bats, and whatever else they can find, yelling their approach and causing the four other boys to pause in confusion for an extra moment after seeing me pummel their friend. Boss? Doesn’t matter. I leap bodily at the closest one, hanging onto him like a baby chimp while I tenderize the back of his head and stick fingers in his eyes. The three others look for an avenue of escape.
A few of my rats are taking kicks and punches, but these asses are taking pipes to their arms and legs, harried to the point of panic when I arrive to apply the strength that the smaller and skinnier children can’t apply.
Once they’re all out for the count, I address the fifteen rats I corralled with me today. “Scavenge the area, ten minutes. Food is finders keep, handheld weapons come to me, and electronics or tech type stuff go to Bruno to take to Jamie and we’ll split the food she gets from it evenly. Go.” The team scatters like . . . rats, searching for a hideout or a shelter where the boys would have stayed out of the afternoon sun. Three stay back to search the unconscious boys. I go back to make an example out of the skeevy douche that was eyeballing me.
Normally, I’d pay no attention to people trying to figure me out, or hells, even the weirdos that would proposition me before figuring me out, but this asshole has been abusing the girls from Our Lady Luck, both physically and sexually.
Sure, some of the rats go for selling their bodies for food and luxury. That’s their choice, and at fourteen, they can make their own decisions. But when one of my grubs, a twelve-year-old, comes back with blood in her pants and tears in her eyes? Someone’s punched their ticket to a messy end.
I start by stripping the bastard, using his clothes to tie him to a large piece of concrete with rebar sticking out. Then I take out my fold-out knife and cut his neck, watching the blood paint his slightly chubby body. Kid was apparently doing well for himself before today. Then, to the gruesome message, the part that I know will take me past the line of justice to the path of vengeance. I cut off the weapon he assaulted my grub with and jam the fucking thing in his mouth. The gorge rises in my throat as I do so, but I try to assure myself that this taint on my soul will be worth it if it keeps these animals from assaulting my grubs.
I walk back to the other boys and see that their shirts, pants and shoes are missing—good on those rats. Because I’m already in for a pound, I feel almost nothing as I hobble the poor fools that followed a rapist. If they were in on it, they’d have trouble catching their prey from here on out.
“Wrap it up. We’ve been out here too long.” Kevin nods at me, taps two other boys on the arm and they toss some retracted switchblades at my feet before jogging off to get the rest of the kids. I examine them and stuff them in my pockets.
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As we walk back, nobody talks. I think a few of the kids snuck a look at what I did, and I know Kevin saw me doing it. When we get back to the orphanage, the rats leave their hauls with the house mom, Mirabelle, a busty brunette my age with a kind smile and a comforting presence, and disappear to the washroom to get their cuts and scrapes cleaned. I open my mouth to talk to Mirabelle, when a hand grabs my elbow hard and spins me around.
I use the spin to clock my assailant in the face.
“What the fuck Kimber?!” Jamie screams, holding the side of her head.
“I come back from a job and you feel like surprising me? What the fuck to you too Jams.”
“Well, you’re not getting any attention tonight.” She huffs and walks away.
I can’t tell if she means sex or cuddles. The cuddles are part of what keeps me together after long weeks of keeping this mismanaged heap of children safe in this freaking wasteland. Without Jamie, I would be just another violent reprobate, but her price is sex—or at least that’s what I’ve equated it to.
I like women, sure, but I’m not really ready to be that kind of intimate with anyone. When she seemed interested, I kinda figured that I owed it to her for keeping me together, and sometimes putting me back together, so I go along with it. I don’t know if she knows or cares that I’m not into it, but what we have is stable enough, so I don’t mention it.
Jamie turns back at the door to address me, “Come on, Kimber. Mother wants to talk to us.”
I sigh heavily, turn back to Mirabelle for a brief wave and then drag my feet after my roommate.
I know the route to Mother’s office better than any child at Our Lady Luck with as many times as I’ve been summoned. I know the lash better too, but that’s at least by design: the rats and grubs mostly don’t deserve them, so I take them in their stead. Fucking lash-happy nuns.
“You’re always so difficult after a job, Kimber. Don’t let that show to Mother or it will affect all of us.”
“If she paid more attention to us instead of giving lip and hand service to the gangs in the area, I wouldn’t have to run jobs.” I scoff.
“If you didn’t make so much trouble, they would give us more food.”
I scoff at that too. “Nah, Grace and Desi are spiteful bitches. They only care about themselves. They sit and eat in front of starving children as a form of punishment. It’s funny, I can go out and seek retribution for their abusers on the street, but the kids’ biggest oppressors get away with it because I need their approval to get a placement so I can help more people.”
“We all kowtow in different ways. I just wish yours was less pathetic.”
“Gods, you sound just like them.” I know I fucked up as soon as I said it. She slaps me, to my shock. Our expressions probably match right now.
“How dare you!” she shouts.
“You fucking slapped me?” I growl and barge past her to continue my journey. She says something, it might have even been aimed at me, but my mind is so loud and so Red that there is no chance I caught anything she had to say.
I make it to Mother’s office and she asks me to wait until Jamie arrives. When she does, she stands right next to me and tries to hold my hand. I clench a fist and let her deal with disappointment.
“Do you know why I’ve called you here?” Mother asks. I want to say half a dozen scathing remarks, but I settle with shaking my head. “Warram Group is in the market to adopt a dozen or so orphans, and they’re starting with Our Lady Luck.”
That is . . . that was not even on my extensive list of reasons for me to be standing here. “Okay, is that a tomorrow thing where we do a massive cleaning effort? Or a few weeks thing where we clean progressively and stay out of trouble?”
“The second. They are coming on your birthday, and I expect you and all of the other sixteen and seventeen-year olds to be presentable with updated profiles.” She taps on her console. “This means no missions to get more food, no brawling with neighborhood gangs, or simply just refrain from being yourself for a few weeks.” She states pointedly.
“Are you going to going to ask the sisters to stop skimming food or are you going to overlook my stealing food to keep people looking like Warram’s money is going to keeping their interests healthy?”
Her face colors with anger, but she quickly schools her features before replying. “The sisters are not thieves, and as I said no more missions. You’ll just have to convince the younger children to stop being gluttonous beggars.”
“Excuse me?!”
“There is nothing you can follow that with that won’t earn lashes.” She narrows her eyes at me, daring me to test her. I almost do. But then I remember, she only said no more missions, not no more stealing. I smile in response and wait for her to continue while she waits for me to comment to my detriment.
After several minutes, she dismisses both of us after telling us to keep the other teens apprised of the situation. While we walk back to our room, I already have a plan forming in my head on how to keep the teens fed and the grubs with a store that the Nuns won’t find.
When we get back to the room I grab a blanket off the bed and a book from the small library I’ve amassed since living here.
“Where are you going with our blanket?” Jamie asked.
“Elsewhere. You’ve been rude and violent, and I don’t want to be around that tonight.” She shouts at me while I gather a few things in case she kicks me out for good, and I just let it wash over me. When I get to the door, she throws a threat that actually matters.
“If you don’t stay with me tonight, I’ll have a bonfire with your books that you can watch from the roof.” There’s panic in her voice that I can’t think of a reason for, plenty of anger and a hint of desperation.
“Jamie. I killed a boy today and I’m not feeling much guilt save the waste of life that his was. Today is a terrible day to threaten me.” Then I left.
My little den on the roof isn’t much, but it’s a place I can go when the noise of the house is too much. I’m rarely this well prepared to weather the night, so I snuggle in with a small flashlight and get to reading. About an hour later, I see a fire in the yard, a trashcan full of debris with Jamie standing next to it and an armful of books. She stares at me while she burns each one, waiting for the fire ebb before adding the next. I stare back into her eyes the entire time, never once looking away, probably only blinking a few times in the hour she spent ‘teaching me a lesson’. My sense of obligation to her died as soon as the first book hit the fire.