Truancy Origins (49 page)

 

 

 

R
othenberg's breath came in short, excited bursts as he made his way up the stairs leading to the front doors of the District 18 Enforcer Station. It had been nearly a week since his raids had last produced results, and while the ambush in District 13 had left a number of Truants dead, his Enforcers had suffered expensive casualties in the process. The loss of the helicopter in particular had been difficult to sweep under the rug, and having to deal with the Mayor's aide peering over his shoulder at every turn, Rothenberg had despaired of meeting the Mayor's deadline.

So when the call came in that morning informing him that a boy identifying himself as the Mayor's son had walked into an Enforcer station and turned himself in, Rothenberg could hardly believe his luck. After all of his searches and efforts, could it possibly be this easy? Rothenberg's heart pounded as he shoved the doors open and ignored the greetings of various Enforcers. His logical side expected it to be a ruse, a mistake, but in spite of his reservations, a burning hope now filled his chest.

“Good morning, sir.” A lieutenant saluted. “You're early, we didn't expect—”

“Where is he?”

“Uh, the prisoner?”

“Yes!”

“He's being held in the interrogation room. You were quite adamant about being the first to see him, so—”

Rothenberg never heard the rest of the sentence, as he was practically running for the interrogation room now. The District 18 station was one he knew well, as it was within his home district; in his haste, Rothenberg never paused to consider whether or not that might be more than mere coincidence. As he drew up to the sturdy door of the interrogation room, Rothenberg stopped to take a deep breath, then, with a shaking hand, turned the knob.

As he stepped inside, Rothenberg froze, gaping at the figure sitting at the polished metal table beneath the room's single lightbulb. Somehow, he managed to shut the door behind him as he entered, relief and delight coursing through him. There could be no mistaking those contemptuous eyes; this was the same boy he had once fled from in an alley. Handcuffed and in custody, the child still managed to exude a formidable presence, but
this time Rothenberg did not feel the slightest trace of fear. They were on his turf now, and playing by his rules.

“Good morning, Rothenberg,” Zen said, nodding politely. “I believe that this is the first time that we've had the pleasure of conversation.”

Rothenberg ignored him. He knew that allowing a child to take control over a conversation only invited humiliation. Instead, Rothenberg began pacing around the room.

“Why are you here, boy?” Rothenberg asked.

“I need to speak with my father.”

“Running back to Daddy after all?” Rothenberg snorted. “And here I was starting to think that you actually had a spine.”

“The message I have for him is not for my benefit,” Zen replied. “Indeed, it concerns the welfare of the entire City.”

“What is your message, then?”

“For his ears alone, Enforcer.”

“You test my patience, boy.”

“And I expect you to score highly.”

Rothenberg blinked at that, then set his jaw.

“Fine then, if you won't tell me why you're here, then I'll guess. You can't handle what you've started. It's grinding at you on the inside, because you know what your problem is, kid? You don't want to kill people.”

“I'd have thought that our encounter in the alley would've indicated otherwise,” Zen countered.

“Oh you're willing to do it, I'll give you that.” Rothenberg smiled coldly. “But when it comes down to it, you don't want to kill—you just want something else and are willing to kill to get it. You don't enjoy it.”

“Am I take it that you do?”

“You're damn right I do, boy,” Rothenberg snarled. “Why do you think I have a reputation? Why do you think you're sitting in that chair while I stand here? Why do you think I've got this position?”

“Truthfully, I would chalk the latter up more to my father's senility than to your sadism.”

At that, Rothenberg's face turned redder than his hair had ever been; his fists clenched as he tried to restrain himself. The Mayor had insisted that his sons remain untouched, Rothenberg reminded himself.

“You're just a stupid little kid after all,” Rothenberg spat. “A rebellion? Hah! I bet that you were so caught up in your crazy little fantasy that you never stopped to think about what that meant. You're ending lives, boy. You're
killing,
and if you don't love your work, how can you ever succeed at your job?”

For the first time, Zen's composure slipped, and the boy seemed genuinely troubled as he sat there beneath the light, his face cast into shadow. Rothenberg smiled, but before he could comment, a deafening noise burst from outside the room. Rothenberg spun around, staring at the door as if by doing so he might see through it. Gunshots now rang out, followed by screams and other sounds of chaos.

“It seems that there is a problem that requires your immediate attention, Rothenberg,” Zen said blandly. “Why don't you demonstrate how successful you are at
your
job?”

Rothenberg froze, then his mouth opened in a wordless scream of rage. As Rothenberg realized that he'd been outsmarted by this filthy child
again,
his restraint snapped. No longer caring about his ambitions, the Mayor, or the consequences, Rothenberg reached for his gun, intending to shoot the boy where he sat, to fulfill the fantasy he had had ever since their first meeting in the alley.

Before Rothenberg could bring his weapon to bear, the heavy interrogation table flew up at him, knocking him back a few paces.

“I spared your life once before, Rothenberg.” Zen leaped to his feet, having overturned the table with his cuffed hands. “Don't expect such charity from me this time.”

Before Rothenberg could utter a coherent response, Zen lunged, ramming into Rothenberg with his shoulder. Rothenberg was pushed against the wall, but this time quickly rebounded, kicking out at Zen, catching the Truant in the chest. Zen staggered backwards. Rothenberg swung his pistol around, but Zen swiftly seized the metal chair and swung it with all his might. The chair struck Rothenberg's outstretched hand as it pulled the trigger, and the shot went wild as the gun was knocked from his grip.

“You little bastard!” Rothenberg roared, enraged by the loss of his weapon. “You haven't got the nerve to kill me!”

With that, Rothenberg barreled forward like a freight train. His hands still cuffed together, Zen ducked and attempted to slam his elbow into Rothenberg's oncoming chest. Though the hit landed, Rothenberg gave no indication that he had been hurt, instead bowling Zen over so that they were both sent sprawling on the floor. Zen again seized the fallen chair and swung it at Rothenberg, who swatted it aside like a fly, sending it clattering off in a corner. Rising to his feet, Rothenberg seized the entire table, raising it high over his head. Zen dove for the fallen pistol, bringing the weapon up just as Rothenberg brought the table down in front of him. His body now shielded, Rothenberg charged forward, table-first. Faced with this oncoming wall of metal, Zen fired, and shot after shot clanged off the sturdy
table as he vainly sought an exposed limb. At the last moment, his gun emptied, Zen fluidly leaped up and pressed his hands against the wall as his feet kicked out and connected with the table.

For a moment it seemed as though Rothenberg's momentum would crush Zen between the wall and the table, but Zen managed to absorb the impact, gritting his teeth as he pushed against the wall with arms and legs. Realizing what was happening, Rothenberg redoubled his efforts, his feet scrabbling to get a firm hold on the ground. But Rothenberg's strength could not overcome Zen's superior leverage, and after a few moments of intense struggle, Rothenberg was sent flying backwards as Zen dropped to the ground, fatigued and sore.

As Rothenberg hit the wall on the opposite side of the room, his head bizarrely seemed to clear, and he became aware of the distant shouts and gunshots that still issued from outside. Exhausted, Rothenberg took a moment to catch his breath and consider the situation. This whole thing had been a plot to kill him. It was the only thing that made sense. All conscious thought abruptly flew from Rothenberg's mind as he understood at last that his life was in danger. Survival instinct kicked in, and for the first time since the alley, Rothenberg felt afraid of something other than the supernatural.

At that moment as the door to the interrogation room slammed open, and Rothenberg nearly panicked. Turning to face the door, he was relieved to find himself facing not Truants, but two aghast Enforcers, neither of whom were armed. What fools, Rothenberg thought scornfully as he shakily rose to his feet. Still, they could give him the chance he needed to escape with his life intact.

“Ch-Chief Rothenberg, sir!” one of them sputtered. “We're under attack!”

“I can see that, you dolt!” Rothenberg snarled, gesturing at Zen's stirring form. “You two, take care of this suspect. Kill him!”

“Kill . . . him, s-sir?”

“You heard me!” Rothenberg yelled. “Kill him and get out of my way!”

“But where are you going, s-sir?”

“To take care of the problem,” Rothenberg said, his voice low and dangerous. “Now, get out of my way. I won't say it again.”

The two Enforcers stumbled into the room as Rothenberg staggered out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. As he began to flee down the corridor, he thought he heard the two Enforcers he'd left behind screaming behind the closed door. Rothenberg shrugged it off; by the time the Mayor's son was finished with the two idiots, Rothenberg would be far away. Even as he ran, he was starting to feel back in control again, injured and spent though he was. With the Mayor's son occupied, there was no
child left who could possibly get in his way. Rothenberg's fear gave way to a familiar thrill as he made for the back entrance, the pain from his wounds completely forgotten. He might have been retreating, but he was still the hunter here, not the Truants.

As the din of combat grew louder with every step, Rothenberg realized that some Truants must have slipped in through the back entrance as well. He smiled at the realization. He was aching to pay them back on his way out. In between spurts of gunfire, the shrill scream of the fire alarm could be heard, and sprinklers were soaking offices that Rothenberg passed by; there was a fire somewhere in the building. As the last corridor to the exit came into view, Rothenberg saw three Enforcers crouched behind the corner, exchanging shots with unseen enemies around the bend. Panting heavily, one of the Enforcers pulled back just in time to avoid a burst of return fire, then jumped as he spotted Rothenberg.

“Chief Rothenberg!” he shouted over the din, drawing the attention of the other Enforcers. “You're alive!”

“Keep your voice down!” Rothenberg said, just loud enough to be heard in the lull between shots. “How many are at the back entrance?”

“Far as we can see, only two, sir!”

“Only two?” Rothenberg grinned. “Well, then, what are you three dolts doing? You outnumber them! Storm their positions, take them out!”

“But, sir, they're well concealed!”

“It doesn't matter, there's two of them and three of you, and I'll be watching your back,” Rothenberg insisted. “Go, that's a direct order!”

“Sir, you're unarmed—”

“I said that's a direct order!” Rothenberg snarled. “Get going or I'll kill you with my bare hands!”

The Enforcer paled, but quickly swallowed and turned to look at his comrades, who had been too busy firing back to hear the conversation. Regaining their attention, the Enforcer Rothenberg had spoken with indicated their new orders with a few hand gestures. The other Enforcers raised their eyebrows and looked up at Rothenberg, who nodded curtly. The Enforcers looked back at each other, and then, taking deep breaths, plunged out into the open together. Rothenberg wasted no time in taking their place behind the corner, and was unsurprised to hear gunfire followed by screams as the Enforcers he'd sent out to die fulfilled their purpose. Rothenberg licked his lips in anticipation as he saw a pair of shadows grow closer on the ground. Just as he'd expected, the two Truants clearly thought that their enemies had all been slain, and now rushed forward to search the building.

As the first Truant came into view, Rothenberg abruptly thrust his foot
out. The boy's gun flew from his hands as he was sent sprawling to the floor. The second Truant halted in time to avoid tripping, but Rothenberg was up in an instant, body-slamming him before he could raise his gun. The boy was shoved to the floor, and Rothenberg stomped on his arm. Something cracked, and the boy screamed, letting go of his weapon. Rothenberg quickly confiscated the gun, and then turned to give the other Truant a kick to the head that knocked him senseless.