Truancy Origins (40 page)

 

S
now had fallen during the night, and early the next morning Umasi decided to go to the trouble of making a warm bath. After he was done, his nameless guest had asked to use what was left, and he had of course consented. One of the things that had struck Umasi when he first met her was how
clean
she was for a vagrant. He wasn't sure what her secret was, but he hadn't thought it polite to ask, and instead exited the apartment to give her some privacy.

Only after she emerged did he understand that she had in fact been dirty before. She looked like a person transformed, like glass turned into diamond. Her skin and hair, which he had thought white before, had really been dull gray compared with how they were now. When the pale sunlight struck her hair, she seemed like an ethereal goddess rising up from the snow.

Umasi complimented her on her appearance, but noted that it was a shame that she couldn't wash her clothes as well. She then mentioned that she'd never been able to buy any for herself, making do with whatever gray or white rags she could find. That gave Umasi the idea of going clothes shopping, something that he'd never considered doing before in his life. Up until that moment, buying clothes had been something to do out of sheer necessity and nothing else. He wasted no time in approaching his companion with the idea.

“Shopping?” she frowned. “I told you, I can't afford—”

“I'll pay for you.”

“No you won't.”

“It's not charity, you know. It's just doing a friend a favor.”

“It . . . what?” she sputtered, momentarily disarmed.

“Come on!”

For the first time since he'd met her, the pale girl looked taken aback, but she didn't protest as Umasi led her along by one arm. Though she talked to no one, and pointedly ignored all the stares she attracted, she otherwise seemed strangely comfortable among other people. When they got to the store, Umasi remembered that he didn't have the faintest idea about picking outfits, and so he urged his companion to do it for the both of them. The albino was reluctant at first, but after she got a chance to examine the nearly endless aisles of clothing, she soon seemed almost to be enjoying herself.

The pale girl quickly chose plain white garments for herself, replacing everything but her headband. She then set about picking Umasi's attire. Her new white sweater, tied around her neck like her old one, billowed behind her as she moved from aisle to aisle. Umasi ended up with several simple sets of clothes of different light colors, a theme that suited him. He now wore plain khaki jeans, and a long-sleeve white shirt with a buttoned-up collar, over which a beige vest had been added. His worn, dirty green jacket had been discarded, and a long white scarf was tied loosely around his neck so that its ends could flow behind him.

Umasi quickly paid for everything, not wanting to be seen in the living districts for longer than necessary. Just as they were about to leave the store, the nameless girl spotted a case of sunglasses. She chose two pairs of a simple black design that didn't seem very popular.

“What're these for?” Umasi wondered.

“Remember what I said about not relying on sight?” she asked as she slipped hers on. “These will probably work better than blindfolds. They dim your vision instead of removing it altogether, so you can keep them on all the time.”

“Constant practice.” Umasi nodded. “It's a good idea, but black's not really my color.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah, my brother's the one who likes and looks good with black, so—”

“Aren't you twins?”

“Not identical, and—”

At this point she put a hand on her hip and looked at him sternly.

“Umasi, the rest of your clothes are practically white. Are you going to let your brother decide everything you wear? Or are you going to let me do it?”

“Are those my only choices?” Umasi asked meekly.

“Yes.” She smiled.

“All right then, milady.” Umasi slipped the sunglasses on.

And so Umasi left the store looking quite striking, though his companion still attracted far more attention for a variety of reasons. Neither of them looked remotely like a vagrant anymore, and it was already after school hours, so though many heads turned, no one bothered the pair as they made their way back to District 19.

As they walked through the snow, Umasi began to get a strange, unreasonable feeling that his new outfit wasn't as warm as the old one—a notion that he quickly dismissed because the clothes he was wearing now were decidedly thicker than those that he'd abandoned. But by the time they reached the District 19 fence, he was visibly shivering.

“Are you all right?” the nameless girl asked, removing her sunglasses.

“Yeah,” Umasi insisted, “just a bit cold and tired right now.”

“Cold and tired?” she repeated. “You didn't throw out that old green jacket yet, right? Maybe you should wear it again for now.”

“Yeah, that's a good idea,” Umasi agreed, sliding into the jacket only to realize that it wasn't doing him much good. “I just think I need to lie down under some blankets and get some rest.”

“You haven't been up all that long,” the albino pointed out. “You shouldn't be worn out already.”

“Maybe it's all this snow, I don't know,” Umasi murmured. “Will you help me over the fence, milady?”

She obliged him and gave him a boost over the wooden barrier. He dropped down unusually clumsily onto the other side. As he rubbed his sore back, Umasi numbly realized that he wasn't thinking very clearly. Chalking it up to his inexplicable weariness, Umasi staggered to his feet and began making his way back towards the lemonade stand. His nameless companion gracefully slipped over the fence herself a moment later and swiftly caught up to him.

“You're not like yourself,” she said, eyes narrowing. “I think you might be catching a cold.”

“Milady, I've been dunked into the river and come out into a blizzard without getting sick,” Umasi said wearily. “I don't think a few flurries are going to get to me so easily.”

“It was a miracle that you survived before,” she conceded. “But that doesn't make you invincible.”

Umasi had nothing to say to that. He simply walked back to the apartment and immediately slipped under a pile of blankets that he had made his bed. But even with the warmth of the thick cloth, he only grew colder with each passing moment. Despite the chills, it didn't take his weariness long to lull him to sleep, and so he never noticed the pair of blue eyes that watched him in growing concern.

 

G
esturing forward with two fingers, Rothenberg glared at the other Enforcers, some of whom were looking decidedly nervous. Outside, the sound of explosions continued to rend the air, some off in the distance, others uncomfortably close by. At Rothenberg's command, the other Enforcers rushed forward into the abandoned apartment and began shouting as they knocked on doors. They were rewarded with yells of surprise, and Rothenberg felt a surge of triumph. The brats were here!

Rothenberg had returned to Enforcer Headquarters late the previous night, and had been simultaneously pleased and outraged to find the
Mayor's aide asleep in his chair. While Rothenberg had lamented the loss of his seat, he was happy that he wouldn't have to deal with the man, and even happier that his last orders had been followed in his absence. A massive task force moved out to take District 7 by storm.

Forgoing sleep and driving all thoughts of specters and phantoms from his mind, Rothenberg hastened to join the task force. When he arrived, his eyes were met with a scene of total destruction: Every few blocks patrol cars and bodies littered the otherwise empty streets, smoke rose in great gray and white plumes, shouts both from nearby and over the radio echoed in his ears. But though their casualties were mounting, it had not been in vain; one of the children was seen fleeing to this building, and so Rothenberg personally led a team in to flush him out.

“Truants! This is the Enforcers! Surrender now or we'll kill the lot of you!” Rothenberg roared as one of his men kicked a nearby door in.

In response, a gunshot rang out and the Enforcer who had kicked the door down crumpled in the doorway. Leaping into action, Rothenberg peered into the room and fired at the center of the dark figure within. His victim let out a yelp and crumpled to the ground, but another sprang from behind a closet, forcing Rothenberg to duck back as bullets soared his way. Rothenberg fired back blindly into the room, and then chanced a look. The Truant had taken cover behind an overturned desk, just as he expected. Seizing his chance, Rothenberg charged into the room and leapt over the desk, tackling the boy before he realized what was happening. Rothenberg roughly slammed the Truant's head against the ground, rendering him motionless.

Rothenberg rose and looked around the room, breathing hard. It was now unoccupied, though a small pile of what Rothenberg suspected were crude explosives rested in a corner. From the sounds throughout the building, Rothenberg knew that his fellow Enforcers were fighting similar battles. Running back out into the corridor to join them, Rothenberg drew his radio from his belt.

“Remember, if you see our primary suspect, apprehend him alive at all costs!” Rothenberg shouted for the umpteenth time that morning. “We need him alive!”

It was a purely precautionary reminder. Rothenberg did not expect to encounter the Mayor's son in this small hidey-hole where only a handful of Truants seemed to have settled in. Indeed Rothenberg did not expect to find the boy in District 7 at all. Still, Rothenberg was taking no chances about accidentally shooting him. He didn't even want to imagine what the Mayor would do if one of his sons turned up dead.

As Rothenberg lunged for the stairs, a deafening noise split the air, and
the entire building began to quake. Over the ringing in his ears, Rothenberg heard panicked shouts on his radio.

“They're setting off their entire supply of bombs!”

“They must be crazy!”

“Everyone out, the building's gonna collapse!”

Rothenberg took those last words to heart, turning tail and dashing out of the building as fast as he could. As he ran out into the street, he turned and looked up to see flashes of more explosions inside the building. He raised his arm to shield himself from falling glass, and then, with a great tremor and crumbling sound, part of the building collapsed in on itself, sending dust and debris cascading to the ground. Other Enforcers emerged from the entrance, coughing and sputtering as they reached the open air.

Rothenberg smiled for the first time in days. It had come at a high price, but this was a victory for the Enforcers; the Truancy had now been completely eradicated from District 7, and he was one step closer to cornering their lunatic leader. Rothenberg rubbed his hands delightedly and then reached for his radio. His duty to the Mayor had been done for the day. Now it was time to hunt down the ghost of District 19 and earn some peace for himself.

 

. . .
A
nd sometimes, they would . . . they would threaten me with a gun. I was so scared, but then the Enforcers took it away, and after that Mrs. Elli got angry, very angry, and . . . and . . .”

At this point Edward buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving with fake sobs. One of the orphanage matrons patted him gently on the back, exchanging grim looks with all the others who had gathered around Edward's bunk as he related his tragic tale of abuse at the hands of his foster parents.

“Awful, isn't it? I read about the gun arrest in the papers, but I didn't recognize the name. Poor Edward. Why do all the awful things have to happen to the best children?”

“Taken down to the Enforcer station for an inquiry, were they? It must've been bad, that's not something the Enforcers do every day.”

“If I'd known what those two devils were up to, I'd have marched right up there and taken Edward back myself. Those irresponsible Enforcers—I knew that they kept asking us about Edward, but they never properly told us what was going on! Outrageous, we had a right to know!”

“If you ask me, those foster parents ought to be locked up for good. Discipline is one thing, but threatening a child with a gun, I ask you . . .”

“At least you're safe with us now, Edward. After all that's happened to
you, I think we'd better keep you here and out of foster care. Why don't you get some rest?”

Edward stammered out his thanks, and with a final reassuring pat on the head, the matrons filed out of the room and flicked the lights off, leaving him alone in the dark, windowless dormitory. The moment the door shut, Edward's miserable face rearranged itself into a satisfied smile, and he slid out of bed and crept over to a floorboard that he knew was loose. Lifting it up, he examined his hidden trove and was delighted to find it exactly as he had left it. There was an assortment of cash that had been acquired illicitly here and there, a scrapbook filled with newspaper clippings about his various misdeeds (none of them correctly attributed to him), a set of keys that would access every room in the orphanage, a sharp, polished knife in a sheath, and at the very bottom, a loaded handgun daringly stolen from a drunk Enforcer.

Edward smiled and dug out the scrapbook before replacing the floorboard and returning to his bed. From his suitcase, he almost lovingly drew out a fresh bundle of newspaper clippings, all collected during his time with his latest foster parents. He carefully added them to the scrapbook, pausing briefly to chuckle over the article about his foster father's arrest. Once he finished, he plopped down on the bed and began reading through the scrapbook from beginning to end. It was a favorite pastime of his, reliving the acts of notoriety that served as a distraction from his otherwise mundane life.