Chapter 8
Corrin
I wake with a long gasp, inhaling sparse air. I’m surrounded by complete blackness but for the tiny dots of light, glaring in front of my face, little stars to my unadjusted eyes. The hot air gathers around my face and my stomach turns from the sharp stench of plastic. I jerk my hands, trying to bend them, but they don’t move. Actually, I can’t move at all as my body is wrapped in something tight.
I tense and squeeze my fists. My right hand curls around something cold and I feel it with my fingers. A knife. I jab it upward, slicing the plastic cocoon from my torso to my head. The oxygen strikes me and my vision swims as I writhe my upper body from within the black mass, leaving it at my legs. The world around me sharpens and I see the mass for what it is—a body bag.
“Oh, God!” I kick it aside, dragging myself away until a repulsive smell brings my attention to the mush under my palms and my surroundings. Piles of waste fry in the sun, heaps of scraps extending as far as I can see. Crows caw, clawing over the leftovers. I’m in a desolate Havason landfill site far north of the city, used for the waste recycling factories can’t contain.
On shaking legs, the shot one wrapped with a bandage, I stand. Uncontrollable shudders shake my body and my clothing is drenched in sweat, yet I’m freezing. Whatever Dan drugged me with still affects me, but it must’ve been the only way he could fake my death and transport me without alerting the other men.
Despite everything, he saved me.
I stumble forward, my leg stinging with each limp. A mindless patrol drone whisks above my head, unnoticing. It must be out of commission.
I reach the wired fence, encircling the landfill, and the open gates. No one is present and I stagger into the paved road. The rocky terrain is covered by brown scare grass and tree stumps, stretching into the horizon. I start down the road into the opposite direction, towards the skyline of the city, a miniature crystal dot, blazing in the sunlight.
As I walk I don’t think I realize what I’m doing or what has happened. Yeah, some difficulties happened, but I don’t care if Dan wanted me to leave—Havason is my home.
Absentmindedly, I continue on until I hit a freeway and stagger along it toward the city. Though it’s not hot sunlight burns my throbbing head and I lick the beads of sweat from my lips. A couple passing cars stop and drivers offer me assistance I refuse. One even attempts to force me into his car, rambling about how terrible I look and he’ll take me to the hospital. Uncaring, I flip out my switchblade and scare him away.
I walk for hours, crossing the suburbs to where I think is north of the city. People, hurrying past, throw me alarmed glances, but I hobble somewhere, for some purpose…
Mom must be wondering where I’ve gone. I should go home. Ah… and I have to tell Sevina I won’t be coming in tomorrow… wait… I don’t think this is happening… I might be delirious…
A woman in a short red dress draws my attention as she waves at me seductively, leaning on the wall. I halt, coming to my senses. It’s dark and I’m standing in a wide and dirty alley. At the far end of it a bunch of homeless gather round a fire, coiling from an oil barrel. I’ve never been here but I assume this is North Havason. Not the greatest place.
The pain in my leg surges and I make it round a corner, away from the prostitute and the homeless, and sink to the ground by the building wall. My elbow hurts and I notice I scraped a solid layer of skin off, but I still nag at the sore spot, fixing my stare on the opposite wall of the alley.
I swallow, my heart sinking.
Rovy… Mrs. Brice… Mom…—events of the past few days swirl inside my head, every detail pulling me further into a maniacal abyss I’m afraid I’ll never crawl out of…
A sob escapes me and I clamp my mouth with my hand to contain the sound, but it doesn’t work. My body convulses and I’m unable to hold back the tears. I break down, feeling like I’m choking with every sob. I cry— cry until my cheeks and eyes burn, until it turns into hysteria, until all is washed out of me and all is bleached.
The tears diminish, leaving me utterly drained, and I lean my head against the wall, ready to dwell in this corner forever.
“Hey, kid, what? Did your buddies kick you out?” A gruff voice stands out from the horror movie my head has set on repeat, impelling me to flinch and look up at three raggedy old men.
“If it’s your territory, I’ll leave,” I whisper, standing. The men exchange glances. One of them grabs my shoulder and slams me against the wall.
“It’s our turf, all right.” A whisk of whiskey and fire dwells off of him. “You seem homeless, you’ll be useful.”
I clench the knife in my hand instinctively. “What do you mean?” I won’t fight. No matter what they’ll do to me.
I stand still as one of them frisks me, another grabs my knife and turns it against me. I’m too exhausted to care. Maybe, once they see I have nothing on me they’ll leave.
“What’s this?” The man pulls a bundle of cash from my pocket. Dan must’ve left me some. “You stole, you piece of shit?” He strikes my face with his palm but I barely feel it. “Cops will come sniffing around, arresting us, you, moron! Why the fuck did your gang let you go?” He looks at his buddies who shrug.
Whatever he’s talking about… I don’t understand it.
I kick him in the knee with my good leg as hard as I can. So much for not fighting. He doubles over, letting go of my shoulder and while he’s down I leap to another man. His reflexes fail him, leaving him to stand clueless at what to do. I grab his hand with my knife and send a fist into his jaw. His eyes roll into his skull and I snatch my knife back before he plops sideways with a thud. I turn—
Rovy, in front of me, lowers his head. His hands are up. His eyes aligned with mine…
I leap aside at the hallucination and squeeze my eyes shut, a corner of my mind realizing this second of distraction will cost me a blow to the head. But it doesn’t come, and when I comprehend my surroundings I’m by the wall. A tall man in a dark hood stands between me and the homeless, a pistol in his hand. With his muscular build I’d say they’d back away even if he had no weapon. Silent, he waits till two others drag the unconscious one away. With the homeless goes my money and the man lets them take it.
“Name?” He scans me from head to toe, hiding the gun under his sweatshirt. He should’ve shot me. Could have. Just like Dan. Who didn’t…
I shot Rovy.
Murderer.
What?
With my back against the wall I stand panic-stricken. The man takes off his hood and in a waning fire-light I discern a thin scar run from his ear to his collarbone. Multiple earrings shimmer in his ears. Who is this guy? I have to escape from here before my story repeats itself.
“What gang?” His thin face is blank. He’s in his mid-twenties I’d say.
“I don’t know any gangs.”
He inclines his chin at my leg. “Who hurt you?” I feel blood dripping from the burning bandage. It’s still a wonder it has held as long as it did.
“It was… it wasn’t the gangs. It was an accident.” I try to inch aside without him noticing. He notices it and I know he wants to snatch me.
I throw my body forward. His arm flies out and I jerk myself into the opposite direction, tricking him. His slower reaction is enough for me to slip past him and start into a furious sprint down the alley.
He doesn’t follow me.
Evening rain brings me back to my senses and I stop, stumbling forward a few steps until I lean on the building wall, heaving.
Think, Corrin, think… use your tired brain and think of what to do.
I notice the familiar thin alleys around me and populated buildings. The homeless area sides with Coats. I only hope I got away far enough.
My stomach lets out a tumultuous growl, demanding for at least a scrap of food in days. For that I have to steal.
I stop by the alley corner, pretending to take cover from the downpour, but instead I scan the half-empty, darkening street for an easy target. People flow on the sidewalks, but it’s not a crowd. On a busy street you slide your hand into someone’s pocket and no one notices, but here I’ll have to take a more violent way. Dan and I always had each other’s back when mugging poor bastards and I wonder if people here are as cautious as they are on Clare’s Island. There, you rarely meet one without a gun and never without a knife—
My stomach knots. Steal? Grab and petrify some innocent girl?
Is murdering people not enough for you?
What am I thinking? I turn away and walk aimlessly until I feel myself beginning to lose balance. Fatigued, I sit by the building wall and let the rain wash the sweat from my face. My eyelids grow heavy and I give up on trying to keep them open.
“So you didn’t steal the money?”
I holler in shock and jerk aside, searching for the source of the voice in the darkness. The same muscular guy stands further away from me. I ferret out my knife and hold it out at him. “What do you want? How did you track me?”
“I’m not supposed to allow you to steal on these streets. And you didn’t get far because you’re running in circles. We met two buildings away from here.” He points behind his shoulder with his thumb. “But I assume you didn’t steal that money because you clearly don’t have the guts to do it now.”
Can’t allow stealing? What does it mean? Will he try to kill me because he saw me ogling the people on the street?
I jump to my feet, but dizziness swoops me and I fall to my fours.
The guy’s footsteps reach my ears as he nears me. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll get you to the doc, okay?”
Before I think of an answer he places my arm over his shoulder and lifts me to my feet. I push him away and steady myself.
“What doc?” I huff, dubious.
“Not far.”
Even if he’s following me suspiciously he also protected me from the homeless. It wouldn’t make sense to lead me into another trap, would it? Unless he wants to kidnap me, but that’s unlikely. I feel like I’m about to lose consciousness at any moment, so it’s either him or another assault from the homeless, considering I’m close to where I ran away from.
He beckons for me to follow and, heavy footed, I stagger after him. He leads me past the spot where he protected me and through unrecognizable alleyways with outcasts and prostitutes until he stops by an inconspicuous rusty door at the side of some building.
He opens the door and walks in first. “Got a patient!” His powerful voice echoes from the walls. The room is a gritty tech shop with dirty glass counters full of wires and other mechanic junk. I notice a restroom in the corner and excuse myself while I still have the chance.
“Don’t drink the water,” the guy calls out as I shut the door. I can barely resist it, but out of exhaustion I do as he said.
When I exit an elderly man almost half my size appears through the hologram shielded door behind the counters. “Ah, Terrel, long time no see.” His voice is casual. “Come on in.” He tugs at his plastic gloves, bloodied apron tied around his waist.
I step back. “I think I’m all right.” This is not what I imagined a doctor look like.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Terrel shields the door behind me. “I may have a proposition for you,” he says in a calm voice. “We need kids like you. You can fight and the guys from other gangs don’t cry in the corners. In fact, no one ever lets them off easy.” He must’ve been watching me for a while. Too deluded and too pained to consider the offer I nod. All I want is to sleep. Maybe never wake up.
“Come on, son.” The doc waves me in. The man is old, with sunken eyes and a wrinkled face. I limp after him and through a dark, ammonia-stinking corridor.
My shoulder tingles and I twirl, meeting complete darkness and air from my lungs evaporating. Wasn’t Terrel walking right behind me? I squeeze my eyes and open them, but the tight blackness around me is empty of any presence. Something clings in the distance and I swear I hear a dull roar of an engine. Footsteps echo behind me and a figure emerges from the corner of my vision. It leaves, but I know it’s my mother by the soothing way she disappears. I have to talk to her… I swivel and I’m standing in a dark street. A few men gather further away and with them my Father.
It’s not real. I try to blink the images away, but Father steps toward me and my heart falls to my heels. Someone cries into my ear so loud I spring to the side, bumping into something firm— a tree… The barrel of a gun stares me in the face. Someone’s arms wrap around me and I scream and kick until a sharp sting pricks my neck.
I tear my eyes open and almost jump in panic, but a powerful hand forces me down. “Keep calm,” a deep voice says. Above me a cluster of earrings comes into focus. Terrel— right.
I shift, lifting my head. “What happened?” I’m lying on a table, undressed to my underwear. An IV tube runs from my hand to the liquid bag hanging from the IV pole. Below at my feet, Doc readies a needle.
“Too damaged, this fellow.” He gives Terrel a dreary glance before looking at me. “You went hysterical, son. We sedated you.”
I remember shouting and Terrel trying to steady me. Great...
The chilly table leeches the remains of heat from my body and the smell of antiseptics cramps my stomach. Every inch of me is sore, my adventures finally catching up with my body.
Someone on the other side of the room chuckles. Two young men by the wall erase their smiles when Terrel turns to them. I suppose they’re in line for the service. “Something funny?” Terrel’s face hardens.
“You’re funny,” the one with tattooed arms and a bald, bloody head retorts. “Gathering dysfunctional brats from around the corners.”
“Shut up,” Doc spits, his hands on my leg wound. “Quarrel outside.” All falls silent and I try not to flinch with each sting, but it’s easy as my mind drifts back to the recent events. “Where did you get this?” Doc walks closer to me with a thin black strap— A very expensive regenerative band, which explains why I was able to walk as far as I did.
“I don’t know. I was unconscious,” I whisper.
“Did you get kidnapped?” Terrel asks, his voice unconvinced.
“I don’t know.” Both men loom above me and I avoid them by turning my head to the other side.
Doc sighs. “Fine. I’ll put it back on. It still has some juice. I’d buy it from you, though.”
Once Doc finishes applying the band he brings me a lofty gray blanket and extends it over me. I stir, unable to ignore the way it rustles above me. “Just a blanket, son. Harmless.” He covers me from my feet to shoulders. “Sorry, no pillow.”
I want to tell him I’ll be leaving soon, but he taps something on the blanket and it starts to heat. Warmth penetrates my rigid limbs and my head swims. I should bolt from here as fast as I can before one of them steals my kidney…
Terrel wakes me carefully for a guy so massive, but I still spring awake. The now empty room is tiled, dim and windowless. “How long did I sleep?” I prop on my elbows.
“Five hours.” Terrel hands me a little brown package of what appears to be raisins. “What’s your name?”
“Corrin,” escapes my mouth as I focus on tearing open the pack.
“Do you have anywhere to go?”
I pour the nutrients into my mouth and gulp them without chewing, then check my leg. It hurts less. I’m lucky it’s something the regenband is able to fix. And whoever shot me, shot well.
“A flesh wound.” Terrel puts my clothing on the table. I take out the IV tube from my arm and dress into my cold garments, stinking of chilled sweat and blood, then tread to a restroom door in a corner of the room. My head still throbs, since I was sedated again, but I’m more aware due to my nap. I take off my shirt and check myself. Who knows what they might’ve done to me? What kind of a chip I might’ve gotten? The only thing I notice is a small lump on my neck. Otherwise, all seems fair. With my soul at rest, I wash my face with dirty water and take a leak before exiting. “I’m—” I think of a quick response, “—out on the streets. Living there.” I inaptly lie to Terrel who folds his arms on his chest. He doesn’t believe it, but he doesn’t push me either.
When we exit the building it’s daytime and I better inspect my surroundings “Where are we?” Cords and wires run from wall to wall of decrepit buildings, from one broken window to another.
“Safety blocks,” Terrel says. Dan had told me about this area— abandoned construction sites and decaying buildings built in a two-mile square area of north Havason. Its original purpose was a modern business area for the wealthy, a grand project purposed to attract affluent investors. At least it was until the architect disappeared to God knows where. No one reclaimed his place, financiers drew back, leaving the homeless to settle in. Dan said for some reason cops can’t get you here.
“Follow me.” Terrel beckons to me.
I doubt he’d want to harm me now, but I still give him a cold shoulder. “Where are you going?”
Terrel breathes in the morning air. “To the hideout.”
“Hideout? You’re a member of a gang, right?”
“I am.” At his words I turn away. Gangs are nothing but trouble. “Ever lived on the streets alone?” I halt.
“Not pretty. Without a job, you’ll be raided by all. Did you notice the only people around are old, homeless men? There’s a reason for it,” he pauses. “Whatever you went through and whatever you did can’t be undone. But you can help us. Do right.”
Right… Yeah. Doing what, selling his cocaine?
Yet, he sat by my side for five hours while I slept, at least I think he did. He could’ve chopped me into pieces and did a lot of terrible things to me, but he didn’t. And you’d never expect such a polite conversation from a violent gang member. Even if he desperately needs people to sell his cocaine, he has to look after them, has to provide food and shelter. Right?
I sigh, pivoting back to face him. What else do I have to lose? If he kills me so be it. I deserve to die.
I shadow him deeper into the maze of streets and tunnels, closed-off underground rails and stations. We walk underground and on the surface again for over half an hour until, deep in the blocks, we reach a crossing of two dumpster-filled alleys between four tall buildings.
Terrel stops by one of the charcoal-colored concrete walls and moves aside one of a few wood panels leaned against it, revealing a heavy door. He lets me through first. “There’s a drop.”
Inside I find a ladder under my feet. Terrel puts the panel back on the door and slips through the crack before the door shuts. He follows me and turns on the flashlight of his cellphone, illuminating a narrow under-built staff passage. I lift my hands to touch the damp, metal walls, reeking of burnt acid. Terrel wanders off into the dark, but the second I step forward my lungs freeze. I gasp for a pathetic sip of oxygen, but it doesn’t fill me in. What is this? A panic attack? My fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt on my chest and I hear a distant roar of a car engine.
“Hey.” Terrel appears in front of me, shining his light into my face. “Talk to me.”
Unconsciously, my hand grasps his upper arm and I force myself to breathe again until I calm. Then I follow him past a few turns into a stairwell. Our footsteps resonate through the walls as we descend twenty floors down. I keep close to Terrel and take notes on the turns and numerous corridors that branch off into the unknown. It makes sense to build an underground borough like this, so to leave more space for the businesses above, and to provide around the clock service. Staff could live here.
“You must be quite desperate if you’re helping someone like me,” I say to Terrel’s silhouetted frame.
“Like you?” He doesn’t turn.
“Too damaged.”
I consider turning back and making a run for it, but realize that without a light the maze of tunnels behind my back will have me stumbling around the walls. Not to mention my cell is nowhere to be found.
Terrel cracks the door at the end of another corridor and a dim, gray light spills through the crack. The place we enter is not only stuffy, but not even half as special as I anticipated it to be. The setting somewhat reminds me of a brig in an old ship with sails, one of those in the history books. Though instead of wood most of what I see around me is metal and plastic. The walls near the door round slightly. Low above our heads sits a rusty and wired ceiling, supported by thin metal beams. Wires bend and spiral around the place; some end in sockets and some hang free, others extend to fluorescent lamps, strung up in random places. They drop hazy shadows on malleable plastic sheets and curtains attached between some of the pillars to form makeshift walls. Free pillars have blankets or plastic sheets strung between them. A child naps in one of the improvised hammocks, swaying airily.
As we pass the hammocks I shrink from the jarring smell of metal and rust.
“Keep up.” Terrel lifts the drape at the opposite end of the place. It’s black with little holes and cuts in it. I stride to him and walk through, trying to breathe as deeply as I can.
My attention shifts when we exit into a massive open circular area. A tier of exposed levels—at least twenty of them— rounds the open section in a huge circle. Some of them have different modifications— walls and curtains—and some are empty. In the middle of the circle stands a metal pillar, at least six feet thick. It rises to the ceiling. “It’s an automated parking lot,” I whisper in awe. Those are widespread in central Havason. A car lifting machinery brings the vehicle through the hatch at the ceiling and places it on one of the levels. This one, however, is converted into one huge… parking lot house? I imagine the effort it took them to alter the entire structure into a livable place.
Terrel lifts his hand up. “Don’t shoot!” On the second level of the structure stands a red-haired girl in black, and a dark-skinned guy, both armed with handguns.
“Who’s this, Terrel?” A girl leaps down and lands smoothly on the ground, dust flying under her boots. Her hair is short, a boyish cut. Plain clothing fits her shape, adjusting to her impressive bust and emphasizing her muscular upper body. She sprints to us, swinging her shoulders in a masculine manner.
“A new guy,” Terrel says.
“Sure schmuck’s not a rat?” Light French accent distorts her words as she inspects me disapprovingly. I flinch, peeping at her handgun she holds at forty-five degrees. The dark-skinned guy hops down too with a sturdier thud. He’s missing an ear.
“He’s not.” Terrel checks on me over his shoulder. I’m almost hiding behind him. “Scavengers found some money on him. He stole.” Though Terrel knows I didn’t steal he leaves it out for some reason.
Redhead and earless guy frown at me with distrust. I want to say I didn’t steal but keep my mouth shut.
“He’s a bit fidgety, though,” says the earless guy, his voice not aggressive. He bends sideways so he can see me well. “What’s up?” I step back, lost. He’s brawny and a bit taller than me. If he attacked me, I’d lose, even if I weren’t shot. In fact, they all could hurt me… awfully bad…
The black guy faces Terrel. “Are you sure he’ll be able to work? I mean… look at him.” He throws his hand at me and I’m already a step further away from them. Three sturdy young men stand on the second level of the hideout and a couple kids stare at us from behind dirty curtains.
“He needs some work, yeah,” Terrel agrees. “But we’re out of choices.”
Redhead lets out a frustrated groan. “Out of choices my ass. We wouldn’t be if—”
“Aida, we talked about this already,” Terrel interrupts her gently.
“She’s kinda right, man.” Earless guy shrugs. “He won’t do any good if he bails out in the middle of the job.”
Redhead… Aida waves her gun in the air. “Ah, let’s shoot him and be done with it.”
I leap back with terror, pivot, and let my feet carry me back. I dive into the plastic curtains and to the door, swing it open, and flee back into the darkness without looking back.
Moron, you should’ve escaped right away.
I follow the wall with my hand and blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the shadows. What were the turns? Left, left, right… Upstairs?
Distant voices call me to stop, but I scurry forward even faster, baring my teeth from the resurfaced pain in my leg.
I stumble into the wall. Wrong turn.
The lights above my head flicker and the corridors light up. They must’ve turned on the lights to see me, but it also gives me a way out. I grasp my surroundings, and after making a couple turns, reach the stairwell and gallop upwards as silently and frantically as I can.
Terrel’s voice calls me from below and the pain in my leg fades against the adrenaline rush. I stumble up the ladder and push the door wide open, throwing the wood panel shielding it on the ground. I dive between the boarded buildings.
I don’t know this place well so I scamper around, making sure I’m not chased, until I reach the far north side of Coats where I wanted to mug people. On the way I notice homeless populate only the outer sides of the Safety Blocks, creating a line of dirt, smell, and other mischief, as if to protect the core. They live in the shells of the buildings or in occasional makeshift cardboard tents. Most of the men and women, gathering around the fire barrels, are elderly. This place is nothing but slums, really. What the hell are they doing with young people like me? Anyhow, the faster I escape from here, the better.
I slip into the restroom of some electronics shop. I take a seat on the latrine, the only place I can sit on, and unwrap the regenband under my pant leg. A wave of nausea passes me when I see the torn stitches. The bullet had grazed and tore the tissue, but the band did most of the repair job. If I want it resewn I have to visit another doctor or somehow find a med kit and do it myself.
“What are you going to do?” I sniff, gazing at my leg. “Great, I’m talking to myself.”
I don’t take long as another panic attack accumulates in my lungs and I rush out before it turns serious. Will I suffocate if it gets serious? I gulp my anxiety. First thing, while I’m still on my feet, is to survive. I have to find myself some money to buy a med kit. Then I can take my time and think about everything else.
I end up waiting for the cover of darkness by falling asleep under a tiny nook in a little alley.
I wake, a vague memory of my mother’s face dissolving in the sea of nightmares. Reluctant to relive it again I return to the street.
In the dim lights I track a girl. She has a purse on her shoulder and seems to be aware of her surroundings as she strides fast along the walkway. As I follow her I rip a part of my shirt’s bottom off and wrap my hands, covering my fingers. I avoid other people noticing me and when I’m certain the direction she’s headed in will be empty I cut her off through a narrow alley, unfolding my knife with trembling hands. Despite doing this before, I’m terrified.
You have to do this, Corrin. You do this or the streets will do you.
She passes me and I leap out, grabbing her from behind. A yelp escapes her before I cup her mouth with my hand and lead her backward into the darkness. Her heart hammers against my forearm and, Thank God, she’s too terrified to struggle. I think I should say something to calm her, but it would be pointless.
“Drop your bag, please.” I tip her chin with my knife. She drops it and I release her, snatch the purse and launch away. Her weep turns the knot in my throat ten times heavier and I stop, squeezing her bag in my arms. In the shadows I wait until she calms and, despite all my instincts screeching to open the purse, follow her hunched frame, making sure no one else attempts to hurt her. A group of half- drunk college students notice her. I observe them. One of the girls calls the police as another guy calms the victim.
I retreat back into the darkness and when I’m far from them I rummage through the purse and take the money, then I find a place in a tiny decrepit park where I unsuccessfully try to take a nap on a bench. The girl’s cry rings in my ears, accompanied by a mixture of screams and dying wails. I clutch my t-shirt above my chest and pray for myself to stay calm. But, maybe, if someone calls an ambulance they’ll help me? No. They’ll ask for my name and Father might learn I’m alive.
By the morning I’m in a local convenience store, grabbing water, bread, and canned food. I gorge myself on the supplies the moment I step outside into the nippy air, unperturbed by the judging glances from the people. Once my stomach is half full I hunt for a pharmacy where I’ll be able to obtain a med kit and use it to mend my leg.