When the Pulse hit, Zane was sleeping in a corrugated cardboard box as usual. He was tall and skinny and itching insect bites from bugs buzzing around the nearby trashcans.
Zane was no stranger to squalor and discomfort to the extent that he became suspicious when offered a comfortable place to sleep.
His eyes fluttered open and he climbed to his feet. He had been the tallest X5 in the facility- the other tallest boys were Zack, Krit and Ben, and without a doubt, Tinga had been the tallest girl. He was hungry. He hadn't eaten in four days.
Zane walked across the street rubbing at his eyes before casually entering an all-night deli and swiping some beef jerky from the front counter when the clerk was preoccupied. He hung around a few more minutes before leaving and going back to his cardboard box. Zane considered himself a dab hand at shoplifting.
He sat cross-legged inside his box, which had previously held a refrigerator, and looked at the clock on the bell tower in the plaza square. Three to midnight.
Knawing on the mission's spoils, he curled up again inside the box and began napping, waking up twenty minutes later when someone kicked his box as they ran through the alley. It skidded across the wet gravel and bumped into the wall, even with him inside.
"Hey!" yelled Zane, poking his head out and frowning. A lot of people had filled the streets, yelling and arguing. There were sector police too. He wondered idly how he could have slept through all this commotion and took another bite of jerky.
There was a smash of glass as a fight broke out and a rioter fell against a store window. Zane shivered- he remembered the escape. Zack had given him a sort of unspoken order to help him smash the window, as they were the two heaviest out of all the X5s. They'd broken it easily and tumbled out into the cold night...
Zane rummaged around in the cardboard box and found an old ripped sweatshirt, which he pulled on. It didn't fit very well- it was meant for someone older, so he was swamped in it.
Time to move, thought Zane. Something bad is happening, and it won't do me any good to hang around.
He hesitated and picked up a piece of glass from a broken liquor bottle on the ground and began ritually scratching something into the brick wall- just in case a Manticore brother or sister should happen along.
It took a few minutes, but finally, it was done. 205 WAS HERE, JUNE 1, 2009. There.
He made sure he had all his food before taking off into the night.
There were no lights in any of the houses, so some people had lit burning torches. They stood in front of their houses, trying their phones and demanding to know what was going on. Zane froze suddenly as a swarm of sector police ran past. People in uniform always made him nervous.
By one o'clock, the city where Zane was living was in turmoil. Riots were breaking out, people were dying, and Zane knew he had to escape before he got into serious trouble.
After another one of his little 'shopping trips' to stock up on high-energy supplies, he began investigating the area until he found a motor scooter parked carelessly in someone's driveway. He set to work hotwiring it.
OK. Zane had a means of escape and food for about the next day, although he could save it for a few days.
Zane liked eating junk. He took a bite of chocolate thoughtfully and made a face- it didn't go very well with beef jerky. He was just about to gun the scooter when he heard something behind the fence of the house.
Ten-year-old Zane jumped it easily and looked solemnly around a backyard that resembled a dump more than anything else. His hearing picked up a desperate whining noise nearby the wooden fence and he jogged over, clearing scrap metal and trash until he found it.
'It' was a small puppy, a German Shepherd so thin you could see its ribs quite clearly through its coat, which was lank and dirty. The puppy was tied to the fence and Zane spied what was probably a water bowl that had been knocked just out of its reach.
It was pathetic.
Zane ripped the rope tying it and it cowered from him as he squatted there, staring it in the eyes. It barked weakly. He imitated it. Zane was great at birdcalls and found mimicking a dog absolutely easy.
"I don't have anything to give you... 'cept some food. You're hungry, aren't you?" He fished some cookies out of a deep sweatshirt pocket, broke them into small pieces and scattered them in front of the little dog, which looked at him suspiciously.
Zane gave it a look. "It's food. Go on. Eat it. There's no chocolate or nothing in it. I think you'll like it."
The dog padded forward and sniffed the cookie pieces warily. "That's right. I'm always scared when people give me food too. It means they want something. I'll go and get you some more water."
He tipped sandy, soupy water out of the dog bowl and went to a tap on the wall of the house to refill it while the dog ate a cookie piece.
The dog jumped at him as soon as he put the water on the ground and began hungrily slurping water as Zane peacefully watched it. The rioting was coming closer.
"I escaped from somewhere worse than this, you know. You could escape here with me. Would you like that?"
The dog looked fearfully at him, and with a sigh Zane turned to go. Just as he was preparing to jump the fence, he felt something tug at his pant leg and looked down to find the dog sitting there.
"All right!" he said in delight, and picked up the dog. "I'm gonna call you Danny."
The dog gave him as piercing a look as a dog can manage.
"Even if you're a girl dog. You're mine now."
He imagined having this said to him and decided he wouldn't like it. He hastily added, "And I'm yours, OK?"
The dog seemed to like this and slowly wagged its tail.
"Come on. I- we- have to get out of the city before three. The roads will be crazy now that all the electricity has gone out."
Zane jumped the fence. "I wonder what's happened?" He looked around warily as he swung a leg over the motor scooter and drove it away.
* * * * *
When the Pulse hit, Jondy was masterminding yet another great escape- not from a military base or genetics lab, but from her new foster family. She was raiding the house for money.
Her hair was growing out and it was blonde. She ran a hand over it as she fished a Band-Aid out of a basket in the bathroom and carefully put it over her barcode, smoothing it out with her fingers. Jondy took a look at the clock on the wall as she washed her face. It was three past twelve.
She turned on a small hallway light as she went into her foster mother's purse. She'd taken fifteen dollars from her older foster sister's desk and two from her younger foster brother's moneybox. Then there was the hundred and seventy-four she'd saved from snatching any change or notes left in sight, as well as doing chores for not only the family but also the neighbours for a small fee. She needed a big escape fund to get to Canada.
Jondy stole a baggy denim jacket from the hall table and pulled it on over the new shirt her foster mother had got her. She picked up her foster mother's laptop computer, opened a new document and started to type.
I AM LEAVING. DO NOT CALL THE AUTHORITIES AS YOU MAY LEAD BAD PEOPLE TO YOUR HOUSE WHO WILL HURT YOU BECAUSE YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO TELL THEM WHERE I AM. IF ANYONE NAMED MAX OR ZACK CALLS AROUND TELL THEM I'VE GONE WHERE WE USED TO TALK ABOUT. THANKS FOR THE CLOTHES AND THE ROOM AND BOARD.
"Wendy?" called out a sleepy voice and Jondy froze. Her foster father was coming.
She was suddenly helpless and acted on the first stupid idea she had; Jondy dived into the hall closet.
Jondy held her breath and tried to stand on the creaky floorboards as evenly as possible. She was safe.
Then she remembered. The computer and the light. It sounded like Jondy's foster father was calling from the kitchen- if the door was closed one couldn't see any light from the hall. As long as he stayed in the kitchen, she was safe.
She heard the handle turn and bit at her lip. Shutting her eyes as tightly as she could, she did something she hadn't done since the escape and prayed to the Blue Lady to protect her.
And suddenly, as if by magic, the saw the strip of dim light visible under the closet door snuff out and the soft whirring noises of the computer stopped.
That was odd.
Jondy heard the door opened and her foster father walk into the hall. "Wendy?" he called in his own benign way. "Where are you?"
Jondy concentrated every fibre of her being on making absolutely no noise.
"Maybe she's in the bathroom..." he mused aloud.
That's right, pleaded Jondy silently. Go. Leave. Check the bathroom.
"I need my slippers," he said to himself. Jondy looked down and saw his slippers nestled smugly at her feet. She rolled her eyes in annoyance. Somebody out there just didn't want to make things easy for her.
The door opened and her foster father gaped at her. "Wendy? What are you doing in the closet?" he demanded.
All sorts of excuses flew through Jondy's mind. She needed a coat because she'd left something in the cold backyard and had to go get it? She was sleepwalking? She was playing a prank on him?
As usual, Jondy did the first thing that came into her mind and punched him in the forehead.
He crumpled to the ground and stared up at her in shock, eyes blink-blink-blinking. Then he scrambled to his feet and gave her a stare that Jondy was used to. "What are you?" he asked in fear. She detected embarrassment too. A nine-year-old had just knocked him to the ground with one punch.
"I'm just a normal girl," Jondy said quietly, never taking her eyes off him, and she kicked him in the chest so that he fell against the wall.
He staggered to his feet, but before he could blink Jondy had him in a sleeper hold that made him sprawl to the floor, unconscious. As his eyes slid shut, he saw Jondy standing over him. She looked like she pitied him, and the last thing he heard before he passed out was Jondy's quiet voice.
"You didn't see me here," she said, and left.
* * * * *
A few hours after the Pulse, Syl and Krit sat in the back of their foster family's minivan as they were caught in traffic, trying to get out of the city. They didn't like their foster parents, Sharon and Lewis. They didn't like adults, period. Adults only wanted to hurt you, order you and strip you of personality.
"It's no use," sighed Lewis as he drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. "This will take hours."
"But we can't ask Sally and Chris to sleep at home tonight. There's people rioting outside their bedroom windows!" implored Sharon, giving the two young X5s a worried look.
Syl looked with calm brown eyes out of the tinted window as some fanatical-looking people carrying signs that said THE END IS COME trooped along the sidewalk. One was a girl about her age who was being dragged along by what looked like her mother.
"Are you kids all right to stay at home tonight?" asked Lewis.
The two exchanged a look.
"We don't mind-" said Krit dully.
"Staying home-" continued Syl.
"On the contrary-"
"We prefer it-"
"To driving around in the dark," both of them finished. They loved their routine of finishing each other's sentences and never tired of it.
Sharon and Lewis gave each other a strange look and turned the car around.
The young X5s took their bags from the car- it wouldn't take long to pack them again. They owned but the barest essentials.
Syl and Krit had been in foster care since about a month after the escape and they didn't like it. They always insisted on three things- no matter how different they looked to each other, they were to be called brother and sister. No matter how good the home was reputed to be, they wouldn't go unless they would accept two children who may or may not be related. And finally, no matter how good the guestrooms were, they would always share a bedroom.
Krit flopped onto his lower bunk bed in defeat. He could see extremely well in the dark and curled up like a napping kitten, hiding his eyes out of courtesy to Syl, who was changing back into pyjamas. On the Outside, it wasn't good for brothers and sisters to watch each other change clothes.
Before the escape, neither had heard of privacy. Krit had even stupidly trekked into a women's bathroom in order to ask Syl if he could borrow fifty cents.
Syl crawled underneath Krit's bunk with her penknife and made another notch in the skirting board. She groaned as Krit changed into pyjamas. "Krit, do you realise we've been here for three weeks, six days, five hours and twenty minutes?"
"That's scary," he observed.
"Yeah. Krit, do you think my hair is growing?"
"If you like. Syl, you're almost as uptight as Tinga about your hair. Remember how she used to get really... what's the word?"
"Pissy."
"Pissy, that's it. Tinga would get pissy when they shaved her head, and then Brin would try to make her feel better."
Syl smiled as she carved the notch deeper into the skirting board. "Then Tinga would yell at her, and then Brin would get pissy, and then Tinga would have to be the one trying to make her feel better."
Both sighed in a homesick sort of way.
"What do you think we'd be doing if we were back at Manticore?"
"Probably sleeping. Or doing martial arts drills, you don't need power for that."
"You're wrong Krit; these fists are registered weapons. Want to do some sparring? I can't sleep."
"Sure."
Syl crawled out from under the bed and stood on the rug staring into Krit's eyes. Then she hit out at him.
He blocked her punch and kicked her in the stomach, so she was behind him before he could blink. Syl put Krit in a headlock and dropped him to the ground, smiling in triumph. "Pathetic. C'mon, you're not even trying," she goaded.
He panted. "You want me to try?" Krit jumped back to his feet, grabbed both of Syl's wrists and began to walk her backwards towards the window of the room.
"Not fair not fair not fair!" squeaked Syl before she bumped into the window. She tried to kick out at him but he sidestepped her.
"When was it that Manticore taught us to be fair?" asked Krit, pushing her to that her head tilted backwards out the open window.
"You're a dirty fighter, Krit!" she shot out at him.
"More insults! Insults are good!"
"Scum."
"Nomaly."
"Enemy."
"Freak. I'm gonna push you out the window now!"
Suddenly, the door burst open and Sharon whirled in. She'd been listening outside the door the entire time. "DON'T YOU DARE, CHRIS!"
The two sprang apart in shock, desperately trying to remember if they'd said anything incriminating.
"YOU ARE NEVER, NEVER, EVER TO DO THAT TO YOUR LITTLE SISTER AGAIN!" raged Sharon, practically frothing at the mouth. "Don't you know you could have hurt her?"
Syl and Krit exchanged a look. For one thing, Syl was extremely tired of being called Krit's little sister because she was shorter than him. She was actually ten years old, a whole year his senior.
For another, Krit hadn't really been going to push Syl out the window. He wasn't THAT messed up. X5s always knew when their siblings were being serious or joking.
For yet another, Syl didn't like the idea that she couldn't hurt Krit in any conceivable way because he was a boy and SO much her superior. Yeah, right. Both knew Syl was higher rank. She was the leader.
"Sorry."
"Sorry."
Sharon was still glaring at Krit. Syl felt bad for her brother and piped up with, "We were encouraged to do that at our last foster home."
"Be that as it may, this is my house and I don't allow fighting. Krit, I want you to apologise to your sister for hurting her."
Krit grunted an apology.
Sharon exhaled. "Now, I want you kids to get into bed and sleep. It's three in the morning."
Both rolled their eyes. Syl, as she was older and therefore ranked higher than her brother, took the top bunk.
Sharon turned to leave, then came back into the room, frowning. "What were those names you two were calling each other."
Krit, an accomplished liar, said sweetly, "We weren't calling each other anything different."
"No, no, I'm positive you were calling each other by different names."
"No, we weren't," said Syl.
"Yes, you were."
Krit answered, staring at the ceiling. "No, we weren't."
"Yes, you were."
"No, we weren't!" both barked, military style.
"Yes, you were," she said, beginning to get angry.
"No-" said Krit.
"We-" continued Syl.
"Weren't," both kids said.
"And who were those kids you were talking about?"
Syl sent Krit a silent message to field that question.
"Brianna and Tina, our sisters," he said, stretching. He paused. "We miss them."
Sharon gave them a patronising sort of look. "And what do Brianna and Tina look like?"
Syl yawned. "Brianna is... is Asian and Tina is- what's the word, Krit?"
"Black."
"Stupid words."
"Yeah."
"We were all brothers and sisters there. No matter what we looked like..." Syl closed her eyes and Krit curled up.
Sharon, unable to explain racial differences to sleeping children for at least the hundredth time, sighed and left.
As soon as she did, Krit pulled a torch from under his pillow. "Syl? You awake?"
"I slept last night, Krit, I don't need to sleep tonight."
"I think they're going to split us up, Syl, 'cause they don't think we're really brother and sister."
"Well, we're not. It's... more than that. Hey, little brother, just go to sleep. We'll leave this place soon."
* * * * *
A few hours after the Pulse, Brin hauled the window of the condemned house open and scaled the outside like a monkey. On the roof, she frowned at the proceedings down on the street and jumped as Tinga joined her.
"Tinga!" she snapped. "Don't DO that!"
"Got a radio for us to listen to the reports, Brinny. You can't say I'm not a good big sister."
"Excellent," said Brin, tuning it. All she got was a squeal of static and frowned. "Radio's out."
"Impossible. The radio's never out. You're doing it wrong, Brin, let me try."
Brin handed the radio to Tinga, who tried it. "It IS out," said Tinga in surprise.
"I told you."
"We have to get out of here. It's not safe."
"Well, if the computers have been wiped their progress in finding us will have been set back."
Tinga smiled at her sister. Tinga was the oldest female X5 out of the whole batch. That made her special. "Out of the city and out of the way. That's the plan, baby girl."
The two young girls lowered themselves to their room, which they shared. They began to pack the meagre belongings they'd accumulated.
"I wonder where the others are," said Brin, tying her shoelaces with military precision.
"I wish I knew," said Tinga, sitting down on the bed they shared next to her. "I could take care of them."
"You will, Tinga," said Brin, making sure the loops of her laces were exactly equal and then tucking them inside her shoes like Max had always done.
"I want Ben. I want Ben, and Maxie, and Zack." Tinga's voice grew shaky, as though she was about to cry.
But that was impossible, Brin thought. Tinga was much, much too brave to cry.
"I want Jondy," said Brin dreamily. "I want Jondy to make me laugh again."
There were sounds of screaming and breaking glass from out on the street.
"Shit," gasped Brin, hurrying to the window. "Take a look at that!"
Both X5s hung out the window and watched the ensuing riot with expressionless faces.
"Violence," said Tinga. She knew she was supposed to be feeling calm, but couldn't. "We thrive on violence, baby sister."
Danger.
Violence.
Screaming.
Sirens wailing to the night.
Suddenly, Brin hugged Tinga. Tinga laughed quietly and they stood there a second, framed by the window.
Brin was memorising her sister subconsciously. Brin's enhanced senses were listing Tinga's qualities. She kinda had a scent, too low-key for any Ordinary human to detect, which reminded Brin of home. Manticore, the room in which they stood- wherever. She reminded Tinga of martial arts drills and the mess hall and the woods- she definitely smelled like rain- and the dormitory. And she smelled also like the diner where they got their meals in exchange for cleaning up. Like food and warmth and comfort.
And Tinga WAS comfort to Brin. Best friend and big sister. It didn't matter if they didn't look even the least bit related.
Tinga hugged her sister tightly, wondering what on earth could have brought on this unexpected show of affection. Brin was the youngest of the ten-year-olds, and certainly looked it. She was a little shrimp. Tinga imagined what the two of them would be like as adults.
Still together, obviously. Sharing a home, a proper one and not an abandoned room. It'd be a big airy apartment right at the very top of a building, high in the clouds where no-one could ever yell at them or make them train to kill again.
They wouldn't bother with boyfriends or husbands or any sort of romance- just live an ideal sisterly existence and slowly track down all the others, regaining the family life (dysfunctional as it was) they'd lost.
Romance? teased a little voice in her head that Tinga immediately squashed. She didn't want to consider all those weird feelings she'd been having for Ben since about a year before the escape. They weren't important or consistent with the objective of surviving.
Tinga couldn't wait to grow up. Being ten years old when she had already cared for her entire family since she was tiny, was a waste of Tinga's precious time.
They both jumped apart and gazed fearfully at the door as there were thumps and drunken bellows coming from outside.
"I don't think it's safe out there," observed Tinga.
Brin nodded. "Agreed. Let's take 'em out."
She grinned radiantly at Tinga, who bravely returned the nod. They shouldered their backpacks and kicked the door open, rushing outside and throwing the fighting residents of the building every which-way. Usually they had to be careful, because nobody thought their room was occupied.
Laughing, they bounded down the stairs, planning this new mission and secretly wondering why it had felt so strange to hug each other.
The ten-year-olds couldn't possibly know it was because they'd never hug again.
* * * * *
The morning after the Pulse, Ben awoke curled up on the floor in the church where he'd stopped to rest. Light filtered through the stained glass windows. He held up a hand in front of his face in a fit of whimsy and gave the merest mouth-twitch, as his fingertips became the same deep reds and pearly greens of the glass. Blood stained his mouth and he ached all over from running.
When the rioting had begun, they'd taken all the kids at the foster home to a shelter in the city for safety. As they'd counted them, Ben had crept away after yelling "Here!"
He'd run blindly through the streets. The violence scared him. That in itself scared him, because pain and fire and agonised screams and people grimly chanting prayers in the streets weren't supposed to scare him He was scared, and good soldiers weren't meant to be scared.
But it had terrified and thrilled him, and he'd begun his own chant in so soft a voice no human could ever hear him. "Oh, shit- protect me, protect me, protect me, don't let me die, I'm a good soldier and I believe in You. I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe-"
Despite all the religious fanatics crowding the streets, there were none in the church. It was pitch black and he'd fallen onto his knees, breathing hard. He'd crawled over the stones, tasting blood in his mouth. Ben had bitten his tongue.
His hands hit something and he'd clung to it, cool smooth dark wood, like a drowning victim clinging to a rock in a stormy sea.
Ben clawed his way up it and gasped when he realised he was hanging off an altar.
The Blue Lady.
He gave a weak cheer to see Her beautiful face. The noise echoed spookily in the deserted parish.
"Ma'am-" (he viciously ripped a tooth out of his mouth. Blood pooled on his tongue and teeth and bubbled up over his dry lips, dripping onto the floor. He ignored the pain and put the tooth at her feet, careful not to get his blood on Her) "- I'm scared, I'm so scared, don't leave me. Are you there?"
And Ben imagined Her voice, which sounded rather like Eva's, floating gently down to him from her perfect mouth. Cleansing and calming him. It was a healing voice.
"I'm here, Ben. Calm down- I can tell you're afraid."
"I'm not. I'm not afraid, ma'am."
"It's all right, Ben. You're allowed to be afraid. It's a very frightening situation. You would have died had I not found you in the darkness and guided you to My altar."
Ben gulped, tasting sour thin blood. "You brought me here, ma'am?"
"I did. Aren't you going to say thank you?"
"Sorry, ma'am- thank you. Thank you." There was a pause. "It's a beautiful altar, ma'am."
"I'm glad you like it."
"Is Eva with you?"
"She is. She's very happy. She stays in bed as long as she likes every single morning. Then she eats a big breakfast and goes to lie in the sun, watching the clouds. I have given her a piano to make the music she loved to hum. Do you know what a piano is, Ben?"
"I'm not sure."
"I shall show you..."
Strains of piano music drifted over Ben, who was breathing hard. "Eva made that song."
"Did she?"
"Yes. The Good Place certainly befits your brave sister."
Relief washed over Ben. "That's wonderful, ma'am. Does she miss me?"
"She misses you terribly. She asks after you, and Max, and Zack and Tinga and all the others every single day. As do Jack and Danny and the others who died in the escape."
"Which ones?" demanded Ben. "Which ones are with you?"
"This I cannot say. But if you are a good soldier, Ben, and always believe in me, someday you will come to me and find out."
"That's... that's fair, ma'am. I'm sorry I was rude."
"I will forgive you, Ben. You are frightened and in pain and alone."
"Could- could I see You, ma'am?"
The voice boomed in anger. "Don't you see my statue, Ben? Am I not smiling at you?"
"Yes-"
"Did I not bring you to Me, and tell you of your sister?"
"You did."
"Ben," the voice said, more gently now. "Ben, a deity cannot be properly seen. It must be believed. Do you know what a deity is, Ben?"
"I think I can guess."
"Yes?"
"A deity is You, ma'am, and only You. You're the only one who loves me and cares for me."
Delightful laughter made Ben giddy with happiness. He had made Her happy. "Clever young man. But you know that is not accurate. Your brothers and sisters love you too. Very, very much. But I... love you more than anyone in the world."
"I love you too, ma'am. I'll always believe in You until the very end."
"Good boy. You lie still at My altar and sleep. You're tired, aren't you?"
"Really tired." Realisation dawned on him. "You're leaving me." Ben's voice was sullen.
"I'm never going to leave you as long as you believe in Me. I will protect you, Ben. Now, say a prayer before you drift off to sleep."
Tears pricked at his eyes. "Blue Lady of Manticore, I am Ben of the X5 group. Keep my brothers and sisters safe. Bestow Your blessing on my dead brothers Danny and Jack and my dead sister, Eva, and all of the X5 class. Keep me safe from the Nomalies. I believe in You."
His eyes closed and Ben slept.
Ben's hand fell to the floor. He tensed. Ben shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep as someone bent over him. "Little boy, are you all right?"
"Mmmrrph."
"What?"
"Yeah, I'm all right."
The speaker was a woman in her late twenties. "You poor little boy," she said, and Ben sucked in a breath of alarm as she pulled him into a sitting position, took a look at him and hugged him. "There's blood all over your mouth. Have- have you been crying?"
"I don't think so."
"How did you come to be here?"
"I came... to Her altar. She called me over here. She calls me to Her all the time. She wanted me to lie still at Her altar. I knew She'd keep me safe from... out THERE. And She did. She's real, and She protects me and my family from harm."
The woman gave a smile. "That's so wonderful. So few children nowadays are religious. What's your name?"
Ben looked up at the statue's calm brown eyes and smiled, imagined to be sharing a private joke with Her.
She gave his head the tiniest of shakes. No. Not a joke. A very serious matter. The name he'd given himself in tribute to Her, upon fleeing Manticore.
"Benjamin Blueman," he said, and forced his eyes from the Lady's wondrous face.
* * * * *
The day after the Pulse, Zack could hardly contain his delight. This was too perfect. The other escapees were officially off the radar- with all the computers fried it'd take Manticore forever to catch up with his family.
Trouble was, it was taking Zack equally long to do just that.
As he wandered down a street filled with people looting stores or fleeing for the bus and train stations, something touched his foot.
Zack looked down and did a double take. Max's face glared up at him.
With a mixture of rage and fear, he perused the paper.
'MISSING
(Underneath this bold black word was Max's last Manticore mugshot. Zack felt a wistful twinge as he looked into her eyes, but steeled himself and read)
Young girl of 9-10 yrs, answers to the name of Max.
Can be distinguished by a barcode tattoo on the back of her neck.
May be accompanied by another child, a 9-10 yrs. girl who answers to name of Jondy.
Any information on the whereabouts of Max would be appreciated.
Cash reward is offered for her safe return.'
Underneath this was a telephone number. Angrily, Zack looked up. Who could have done this? Who was looking for Max?
HIS Max. She belonged to him, and he to her. As it was with all X5s. Nobody had any right to this.
Unless...
His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
MANTICORE. It was Manticore, Zack knew it. They were looking for Max. She was in danger and it was his responsibility to protect his sister from their evil. They obviously wanted to throw her back into a cage.
You should have found her by now, 599, snarled the voice in Zack's head that always popped up in the rare incidents he felt unhappy and ashamed. It's YOUR fault that Max is in danger.
But who was to say Max was the only one in danger? His blood ran cold at the thought of other posters, thousands and thousands of copies posted all over the city. Posters for Tinga. Roman. Krit. Jondy. Ben. Omri. Zane. Brin. Syl.
Max...
Why didn't you spend more time trying to find them? snapped the voice, blatantly ignoring the fact that Zack had been spending his every waking moment doing absolutely nothing other than trying to track down the other escapees.
He spied a man and woman hurrying down the street, two young children in tow. All were loaded down with bags and if Zack dilated his pupils he could see they were carrying sector passes. Fleeing the city. He snorted. Cowards. HE wasn't afraid of anything.
The woman frowned and stopped, looking around behind her. Their eyes locked for a second. She gave him, a grave-looking eleven-year-old who was big for his age, a weak smile and carried on her way.
POSTERS.
He saw them suddenly, peeping out of her carrier bag. A thick wad of them. He could even make out the G in MISSING.
They were from Manticore. Zack knew it. He didn't care about the children; they'd probably been recruited to make the adults look innocent. Maybe they were X6s; he'd seen them occasionally around the barracks.
He started to follow. He was seething with rage. They were endangering his family.
They crossed the street. He knew it. They were trying to shake him off. She'd probably seen him, recognised him, and seen the poster in his hands.
His hands. Zack looked at them for a second. They were shaking in rage. He disregarded the fact that Ordinaries were rarely so observant.
Maybe they weren't even Ordinaries. They could be transgenics as well.
He broke into a jog and followed them across the street. He imagined what he'd say.
Zack would tap the woman on the shoulder and brandish the MISSING poster. "Looking for her?" he'd ask venomously, and then punch her in the head. The man would be next. He didn't care about the kids. If they were X6s, they'd be too inexperienced and afraid to fight back.
The man looked around him and darted out into the road, flagging down a car. The group climbed inside.
Zack stopped breathlessly, glowering. He pounded a fist against a plate glass window in frustration and barely heeded the spectacular cracks blooming over the weathered glass. They'd eluded him.
"I'll keep you safe, Maxie," he said aloud. "They'll never throw you back in a cage."
* * * * *
A week after the Pulse, Jace stood in line in the martial arts classroom with her usual glare. In a month or two all the X-series of Wyoming were being transported to a facility in Washington. The Pulse hadn't really been a problem for them- the Committee (whoever they were) had gotten them illegal power within the night, and had installed a generator soon after.
They'd been returning from a training mission in the Manticore forest when the lights of the barracks had flickered out. She'd parted the ferns in her grimy hands and frowned as darkness shrouded Manticore.
"What happened?" asked Amna, staring over her shoulder. Jace growled at her.
"Yeah, what happened to the lights?"
Yells were coming from the barracks that their hearing picked up instantly.
"Don't do anything dumb, troops," called Jace.
A rifle clicked in the darkness.
"I SAID don't do anything dumb, X5-572!" snapped Jace.
"How'd you know it was m-AAAARGH!" screamed Splint in pain as he managed to shoot himself in the arm. He braced himself against a tree, his pained eyes luminous in the darkness.
Cloe squealed. There were gasps.
"Shit, 572!" scolded Jace bossily. Jace didn't have much of a problem with swearing as a child, but it had upset the others so she'd kept it to a minimum.
The others. Those traitors.
Kill, kill, kill...
"That's not very kind," remarked Clay in his usual wise guy style. "What hurts, 572?"
"My arm. And I think my rash just got worse."
"That's not a rash, that's poison ivy, you dumbass! How many times must I tell you?"
Splint shook his head. "I did not fall in poison ivy. I'm not that stupid," he snapped.
"Could've fooled me," muttered someone. There were murmurs of agreement.
"Keep it together, soldiers!" bellowed Jace. "Fall in!"
"Ma'am, yes ma'am!" yelled the other X5s. Jace was leader of the mission. Now that the older and more capable X5s had flown the coop, Jace was ALWAYS leader of the mission.
"About face!"
They turned.
"Forward march! X5-619, help 572."
"Yes, ma'am!" barked Cloe, going to help Splint. The little group marched through the trees and down the hills towards the gates of the inner perimeter.
Jace blinked and it was day again. There was no productivity in reflecting on the past. She was nine years old, that was far too old to indulge in ridiculous dreams and pointless reveries.
It was certainly too old to love her X5 brothers and sisters. Especially the ones who'd gotten away.
* * * * *
It was June the first again. A whole year of this new Depression.
Ten-year-old Max Guevara (then Max Murdoch) sat on a cliff overlooking the sea. A police siren wailed in the city behind her, but she was oblivious. She just watched the dying sun cast its rays on the water.
Her bicycle, a gift from her newest foster parents, lay on its side in the dirt, her backpack dangling from its handlebars. She was running again.
She sighed, propping her chin upon her hand. Then she leaned back on both hands and raised her face to the sun. Before she jumped up and pedalled away as fast as she possibly could, Max prayed to the Lady to guide her.
Max cast one last look at the waves before she rose. For as she beheld the pure beauty of nature, a thing so rare in a world still shaken from the Pulse, Max Murdoch (one day to be Max Guevara) dreamed of her family.
* * *
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue.
NOTE: I'm rather proud of this fic. I've been working on it for ages. At about five today I had a sudden burst of inspiration and completed all the X5s from Brin and Tinga right through to Max.
To find out who the dark-haired woman with MISSING posters was, read my fic 'Lost Daughter'. The Crushing On Ben thing is once again a reference to my fanfic 'Named By Nature'. Also, to find out why I ended Tinga and Brin's bit thusly, read my fic 'I Remember You'.
I am also planning a fic about Krit and Syl as teenagers, complete with flashbacks. What fun.
Laters, all!
Zane was no stranger to squalor and discomfort to the extent that he became suspicious when offered a comfortable place to sleep.
His eyes fluttered open and he climbed to his feet. He had been the tallest X5 in the facility- the other tallest boys were Zack, Krit and Ben, and without a doubt, Tinga had been the tallest girl. He was hungry. He hadn't eaten in four days.
Zane walked across the street rubbing at his eyes before casually entering an all-night deli and swiping some beef jerky from the front counter when the clerk was preoccupied. He hung around a few more minutes before leaving and going back to his cardboard box. Zane considered himself a dab hand at shoplifting.
He sat cross-legged inside his box, which had previously held a refrigerator, and looked at the clock on the bell tower in the plaza square. Three to midnight.
Knawing on the mission's spoils, he curled up again inside the box and began napping, waking up twenty minutes later when someone kicked his box as they ran through the alley. It skidded across the wet gravel and bumped into the wall, even with him inside.
"Hey!" yelled Zane, poking his head out and frowning. A lot of people had filled the streets, yelling and arguing. There were sector police too. He wondered idly how he could have slept through all this commotion and took another bite of jerky.
There was a smash of glass as a fight broke out and a rioter fell against a store window. Zane shivered- he remembered the escape. Zack had given him a sort of unspoken order to help him smash the window, as they were the two heaviest out of all the X5s. They'd broken it easily and tumbled out into the cold night...
Zane rummaged around in the cardboard box and found an old ripped sweatshirt, which he pulled on. It didn't fit very well- it was meant for someone older, so he was swamped in it.
Time to move, thought Zane. Something bad is happening, and it won't do me any good to hang around.
He hesitated and picked up a piece of glass from a broken liquor bottle on the ground and began ritually scratching something into the brick wall- just in case a Manticore brother or sister should happen along.
It took a few minutes, but finally, it was done. 205 WAS HERE, JUNE 1, 2009. There.
He made sure he had all his food before taking off into the night.
There were no lights in any of the houses, so some people had lit burning torches. They stood in front of their houses, trying their phones and demanding to know what was going on. Zane froze suddenly as a swarm of sector police ran past. People in uniform always made him nervous.
By one o'clock, the city where Zane was living was in turmoil. Riots were breaking out, people were dying, and Zane knew he had to escape before he got into serious trouble.
After another one of his little 'shopping trips' to stock up on high-energy supplies, he began investigating the area until he found a motor scooter parked carelessly in someone's driveway. He set to work hotwiring it.
OK. Zane had a means of escape and food for about the next day, although he could save it for a few days.
Zane liked eating junk. He took a bite of chocolate thoughtfully and made a face- it didn't go very well with beef jerky. He was just about to gun the scooter when he heard something behind the fence of the house.
Ten-year-old Zane jumped it easily and looked solemnly around a backyard that resembled a dump more than anything else. His hearing picked up a desperate whining noise nearby the wooden fence and he jogged over, clearing scrap metal and trash until he found it.
'It' was a small puppy, a German Shepherd so thin you could see its ribs quite clearly through its coat, which was lank and dirty. The puppy was tied to the fence and Zane spied what was probably a water bowl that had been knocked just out of its reach.
It was pathetic.
Zane ripped the rope tying it and it cowered from him as he squatted there, staring it in the eyes. It barked weakly. He imitated it. Zane was great at birdcalls and found mimicking a dog absolutely easy.
"I don't have anything to give you... 'cept some food. You're hungry, aren't you?" He fished some cookies out of a deep sweatshirt pocket, broke them into small pieces and scattered them in front of the little dog, which looked at him suspiciously.
Zane gave it a look. "It's food. Go on. Eat it. There's no chocolate or nothing in it. I think you'll like it."
The dog padded forward and sniffed the cookie pieces warily. "That's right. I'm always scared when people give me food too. It means they want something. I'll go and get you some more water."
He tipped sandy, soupy water out of the dog bowl and went to a tap on the wall of the house to refill it while the dog ate a cookie piece.
The dog jumped at him as soon as he put the water on the ground and began hungrily slurping water as Zane peacefully watched it. The rioting was coming closer.
"I escaped from somewhere worse than this, you know. You could escape here with me. Would you like that?"
The dog looked fearfully at him, and with a sigh Zane turned to go. Just as he was preparing to jump the fence, he felt something tug at his pant leg and looked down to find the dog sitting there.
"All right!" he said in delight, and picked up the dog. "I'm gonna call you Danny."
The dog gave him as piercing a look as a dog can manage.
"Even if you're a girl dog. You're mine now."
He imagined having this said to him and decided he wouldn't like it. He hastily added, "And I'm yours, OK?"
The dog seemed to like this and slowly wagged its tail.
"Come on. I- we- have to get out of the city before three. The roads will be crazy now that all the electricity has gone out."
Zane jumped the fence. "I wonder what's happened?" He looked around warily as he swung a leg over the motor scooter and drove it away.
* * * * *
When the Pulse hit, Jondy was masterminding yet another great escape- not from a military base or genetics lab, but from her new foster family. She was raiding the house for money.
Her hair was growing out and it was blonde. She ran a hand over it as she fished a Band-Aid out of a basket in the bathroom and carefully put it over her barcode, smoothing it out with her fingers. Jondy took a look at the clock on the wall as she washed her face. It was three past twelve.
She turned on a small hallway light as she went into her foster mother's purse. She'd taken fifteen dollars from her older foster sister's desk and two from her younger foster brother's moneybox. Then there was the hundred and seventy-four she'd saved from snatching any change or notes left in sight, as well as doing chores for not only the family but also the neighbours for a small fee. She needed a big escape fund to get to Canada.
Jondy stole a baggy denim jacket from the hall table and pulled it on over the new shirt her foster mother had got her. She picked up her foster mother's laptop computer, opened a new document and started to type.
I AM LEAVING. DO NOT CALL THE AUTHORITIES AS YOU MAY LEAD BAD PEOPLE TO YOUR HOUSE WHO WILL HURT YOU BECAUSE YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO TELL THEM WHERE I AM. IF ANYONE NAMED MAX OR ZACK CALLS AROUND TELL THEM I'VE GONE WHERE WE USED TO TALK ABOUT. THANKS FOR THE CLOTHES AND THE ROOM AND BOARD.
"Wendy?" called out a sleepy voice and Jondy froze. Her foster father was coming.
She was suddenly helpless and acted on the first stupid idea she had; Jondy dived into the hall closet.
Jondy held her breath and tried to stand on the creaky floorboards as evenly as possible. She was safe.
Then she remembered. The computer and the light. It sounded like Jondy's foster father was calling from the kitchen- if the door was closed one couldn't see any light from the hall. As long as he stayed in the kitchen, she was safe.
She heard the handle turn and bit at her lip. Shutting her eyes as tightly as she could, she did something she hadn't done since the escape and prayed to the Blue Lady to protect her.
And suddenly, as if by magic, the saw the strip of dim light visible under the closet door snuff out and the soft whirring noises of the computer stopped.
That was odd.
Jondy heard the door opened and her foster father walk into the hall. "Wendy?" he called in his own benign way. "Where are you?"
Jondy concentrated every fibre of her being on making absolutely no noise.
"Maybe she's in the bathroom..." he mused aloud.
That's right, pleaded Jondy silently. Go. Leave. Check the bathroom.
"I need my slippers," he said to himself. Jondy looked down and saw his slippers nestled smugly at her feet. She rolled her eyes in annoyance. Somebody out there just didn't want to make things easy for her.
The door opened and her foster father gaped at her. "Wendy? What are you doing in the closet?" he demanded.
All sorts of excuses flew through Jondy's mind. She needed a coat because she'd left something in the cold backyard and had to go get it? She was sleepwalking? She was playing a prank on him?
As usual, Jondy did the first thing that came into her mind and punched him in the forehead.
He crumpled to the ground and stared up at her in shock, eyes blink-blink-blinking. Then he scrambled to his feet and gave her a stare that Jondy was used to. "What are you?" he asked in fear. She detected embarrassment too. A nine-year-old had just knocked him to the ground with one punch.
"I'm just a normal girl," Jondy said quietly, never taking her eyes off him, and she kicked him in the chest so that he fell against the wall.
He staggered to his feet, but before he could blink Jondy had him in a sleeper hold that made him sprawl to the floor, unconscious. As his eyes slid shut, he saw Jondy standing over him. She looked like she pitied him, and the last thing he heard before he passed out was Jondy's quiet voice.
"You didn't see me here," she said, and left.
* * * * *
A few hours after the Pulse, Syl and Krit sat in the back of their foster family's minivan as they were caught in traffic, trying to get out of the city. They didn't like their foster parents, Sharon and Lewis. They didn't like adults, period. Adults only wanted to hurt you, order you and strip you of personality.
"It's no use," sighed Lewis as he drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. "This will take hours."
"But we can't ask Sally and Chris to sleep at home tonight. There's people rioting outside their bedroom windows!" implored Sharon, giving the two young X5s a worried look.
Syl looked with calm brown eyes out of the tinted window as some fanatical-looking people carrying signs that said THE END IS COME trooped along the sidewalk. One was a girl about her age who was being dragged along by what looked like her mother.
"Are you kids all right to stay at home tonight?" asked Lewis.
The two exchanged a look.
"We don't mind-" said Krit dully.
"Staying home-" continued Syl.
"On the contrary-"
"We prefer it-"
"To driving around in the dark," both of them finished. They loved their routine of finishing each other's sentences and never tired of it.
Sharon and Lewis gave each other a strange look and turned the car around.
The young X5s took their bags from the car- it wouldn't take long to pack them again. They owned but the barest essentials.
Syl and Krit had been in foster care since about a month after the escape and they didn't like it. They always insisted on three things- no matter how different they looked to each other, they were to be called brother and sister. No matter how good the home was reputed to be, they wouldn't go unless they would accept two children who may or may not be related. And finally, no matter how good the guestrooms were, they would always share a bedroom.
Krit flopped onto his lower bunk bed in defeat. He could see extremely well in the dark and curled up like a napping kitten, hiding his eyes out of courtesy to Syl, who was changing back into pyjamas. On the Outside, it wasn't good for brothers and sisters to watch each other change clothes.
Before the escape, neither had heard of privacy. Krit had even stupidly trekked into a women's bathroom in order to ask Syl if he could borrow fifty cents.
Syl crawled underneath Krit's bunk with her penknife and made another notch in the skirting board. She groaned as Krit changed into pyjamas. "Krit, do you realise we've been here for three weeks, six days, five hours and twenty minutes?"
"That's scary," he observed.
"Yeah. Krit, do you think my hair is growing?"
"If you like. Syl, you're almost as uptight as Tinga about your hair. Remember how she used to get really... what's the word?"
"Pissy."
"Pissy, that's it. Tinga would get pissy when they shaved her head, and then Brin would try to make her feel better."
Syl smiled as she carved the notch deeper into the skirting board. "Then Tinga would yell at her, and then Brin would get pissy, and then Tinga would have to be the one trying to make her feel better."
Both sighed in a homesick sort of way.
"What do you think we'd be doing if we were back at Manticore?"
"Probably sleeping. Or doing martial arts drills, you don't need power for that."
"You're wrong Krit; these fists are registered weapons. Want to do some sparring? I can't sleep."
"Sure."
Syl crawled out from under the bed and stood on the rug staring into Krit's eyes. Then she hit out at him.
He blocked her punch and kicked her in the stomach, so she was behind him before he could blink. Syl put Krit in a headlock and dropped him to the ground, smiling in triumph. "Pathetic. C'mon, you're not even trying," she goaded.
He panted. "You want me to try?" Krit jumped back to his feet, grabbed both of Syl's wrists and began to walk her backwards towards the window of the room.
"Not fair not fair not fair!" squeaked Syl before she bumped into the window. She tried to kick out at him but he sidestepped her.
"When was it that Manticore taught us to be fair?" asked Krit, pushing her to that her head tilted backwards out the open window.
"You're a dirty fighter, Krit!" she shot out at him.
"More insults! Insults are good!"
"Scum."
"Nomaly."
"Enemy."
"Freak. I'm gonna push you out the window now!"
Suddenly, the door burst open and Sharon whirled in. She'd been listening outside the door the entire time. "DON'T YOU DARE, CHRIS!"
The two sprang apart in shock, desperately trying to remember if they'd said anything incriminating.
"YOU ARE NEVER, NEVER, EVER TO DO THAT TO YOUR LITTLE SISTER AGAIN!" raged Sharon, practically frothing at the mouth. "Don't you know you could have hurt her?"
Syl and Krit exchanged a look. For one thing, Syl was extremely tired of being called Krit's little sister because she was shorter than him. She was actually ten years old, a whole year his senior.
For another, Krit hadn't really been going to push Syl out the window. He wasn't THAT messed up. X5s always knew when their siblings were being serious or joking.
For yet another, Syl didn't like the idea that she couldn't hurt Krit in any conceivable way because he was a boy and SO much her superior. Yeah, right. Both knew Syl was higher rank. She was the leader.
"Sorry."
"Sorry."
Sharon was still glaring at Krit. Syl felt bad for her brother and piped up with, "We were encouraged to do that at our last foster home."
"Be that as it may, this is my house and I don't allow fighting. Krit, I want you to apologise to your sister for hurting her."
Krit grunted an apology.
Sharon exhaled. "Now, I want you kids to get into bed and sleep. It's three in the morning."
Both rolled their eyes. Syl, as she was older and therefore ranked higher than her brother, took the top bunk.
Sharon turned to leave, then came back into the room, frowning. "What were those names you two were calling each other."
Krit, an accomplished liar, said sweetly, "We weren't calling each other anything different."
"No, no, I'm positive you were calling each other by different names."
"No, we weren't," said Syl.
"Yes, you were."
Krit answered, staring at the ceiling. "No, we weren't."
"Yes, you were."
"No, we weren't!" both barked, military style.
"Yes, you were," she said, beginning to get angry.
"No-" said Krit.
"We-" continued Syl.
"Weren't," both kids said.
"And who were those kids you were talking about?"
Syl sent Krit a silent message to field that question.
"Brianna and Tina, our sisters," he said, stretching. He paused. "We miss them."
Sharon gave them a patronising sort of look. "And what do Brianna and Tina look like?"
Syl yawned. "Brianna is... is Asian and Tina is- what's the word, Krit?"
"Black."
"Stupid words."
"Yeah."
"We were all brothers and sisters there. No matter what we looked like..." Syl closed her eyes and Krit curled up.
Sharon, unable to explain racial differences to sleeping children for at least the hundredth time, sighed and left.
As soon as she did, Krit pulled a torch from under his pillow. "Syl? You awake?"
"I slept last night, Krit, I don't need to sleep tonight."
"I think they're going to split us up, Syl, 'cause they don't think we're really brother and sister."
"Well, we're not. It's... more than that. Hey, little brother, just go to sleep. We'll leave this place soon."
* * * * *
A few hours after the Pulse, Brin hauled the window of the condemned house open and scaled the outside like a monkey. On the roof, she frowned at the proceedings down on the street and jumped as Tinga joined her.
"Tinga!" she snapped. "Don't DO that!"
"Got a radio for us to listen to the reports, Brinny. You can't say I'm not a good big sister."
"Excellent," said Brin, tuning it. All she got was a squeal of static and frowned. "Radio's out."
"Impossible. The radio's never out. You're doing it wrong, Brin, let me try."
Brin handed the radio to Tinga, who tried it. "It IS out," said Tinga in surprise.
"I told you."
"We have to get out of here. It's not safe."
"Well, if the computers have been wiped their progress in finding us will have been set back."
Tinga smiled at her sister. Tinga was the oldest female X5 out of the whole batch. That made her special. "Out of the city and out of the way. That's the plan, baby girl."
The two young girls lowered themselves to their room, which they shared. They began to pack the meagre belongings they'd accumulated.
"I wonder where the others are," said Brin, tying her shoelaces with military precision.
"I wish I knew," said Tinga, sitting down on the bed they shared next to her. "I could take care of them."
"You will, Tinga," said Brin, making sure the loops of her laces were exactly equal and then tucking them inside her shoes like Max had always done.
"I want Ben. I want Ben, and Maxie, and Zack." Tinga's voice grew shaky, as though she was about to cry.
But that was impossible, Brin thought. Tinga was much, much too brave to cry.
"I want Jondy," said Brin dreamily. "I want Jondy to make me laugh again."
There were sounds of screaming and breaking glass from out on the street.
"Shit," gasped Brin, hurrying to the window. "Take a look at that!"
Both X5s hung out the window and watched the ensuing riot with expressionless faces.
"Violence," said Tinga. She knew she was supposed to be feeling calm, but couldn't. "We thrive on violence, baby sister."
Danger.
Violence.
Screaming.
Sirens wailing to the night.
Suddenly, Brin hugged Tinga. Tinga laughed quietly and they stood there a second, framed by the window.
Brin was memorising her sister subconsciously. Brin's enhanced senses were listing Tinga's qualities. She kinda had a scent, too low-key for any Ordinary human to detect, which reminded Brin of home. Manticore, the room in which they stood- wherever. She reminded Tinga of martial arts drills and the mess hall and the woods- she definitely smelled like rain- and the dormitory. And she smelled also like the diner where they got their meals in exchange for cleaning up. Like food and warmth and comfort.
And Tinga WAS comfort to Brin. Best friend and big sister. It didn't matter if they didn't look even the least bit related.
Tinga hugged her sister tightly, wondering what on earth could have brought on this unexpected show of affection. Brin was the youngest of the ten-year-olds, and certainly looked it. She was a little shrimp. Tinga imagined what the two of them would be like as adults.
Still together, obviously. Sharing a home, a proper one and not an abandoned room. It'd be a big airy apartment right at the very top of a building, high in the clouds where no-one could ever yell at them or make them train to kill again.
They wouldn't bother with boyfriends or husbands or any sort of romance- just live an ideal sisterly existence and slowly track down all the others, regaining the family life (dysfunctional as it was) they'd lost.
Romance? teased a little voice in her head that Tinga immediately squashed. She didn't want to consider all those weird feelings she'd been having for Ben since about a year before the escape. They weren't important or consistent with the objective of surviving.
Tinga couldn't wait to grow up. Being ten years old when she had already cared for her entire family since she was tiny, was a waste of Tinga's precious time.
They both jumped apart and gazed fearfully at the door as there were thumps and drunken bellows coming from outside.
"I don't think it's safe out there," observed Tinga.
Brin nodded. "Agreed. Let's take 'em out."
She grinned radiantly at Tinga, who bravely returned the nod. They shouldered their backpacks and kicked the door open, rushing outside and throwing the fighting residents of the building every which-way. Usually they had to be careful, because nobody thought their room was occupied.
Laughing, they bounded down the stairs, planning this new mission and secretly wondering why it had felt so strange to hug each other.
The ten-year-olds couldn't possibly know it was because they'd never hug again.
* * * * *
The morning after the Pulse, Ben awoke curled up on the floor in the church where he'd stopped to rest. Light filtered through the stained glass windows. He held up a hand in front of his face in a fit of whimsy and gave the merest mouth-twitch, as his fingertips became the same deep reds and pearly greens of the glass. Blood stained his mouth and he ached all over from running.
When the rioting had begun, they'd taken all the kids at the foster home to a shelter in the city for safety. As they'd counted them, Ben had crept away after yelling "Here!"
He'd run blindly through the streets. The violence scared him. That in itself scared him, because pain and fire and agonised screams and people grimly chanting prayers in the streets weren't supposed to scare him He was scared, and good soldiers weren't meant to be scared.
But it had terrified and thrilled him, and he'd begun his own chant in so soft a voice no human could ever hear him. "Oh, shit- protect me, protect me, protect me, don't let me die, I'm a good soldier and I believe in You. I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe-"
Despite all the religious fanatics crowding the streets, there were none in the church. It was pitch black and he'd fallen onto his knees, breathing hard. He'd crawled over the stones, tasting blood in his mouth. Ben had bitten his tongue.
His hands hit something and he'd clung to it, cool smooth dark wood, like a drowning victim clinging to a rock in a stormy sea.
Ben clawed his way up it and gasped when he realised he was hanging off an altar.
The Blue Lady.
He gave a weak cheer to see Her beautiful face. The noise echoed spookily in the deserted parish.
"Ma'am-" (he viciously ripped a tooth out of his mouth. Blood pooled on his tongue and teeth and bubbled up over his dry lips, dripping onto the floor. He ignored the pain and put the tooth at her feet, careful not to get his blood on Her) "- I'm scared, I'm so scared, don't leave me. Are you there?"
And Ben imagined Her voice, which sounded rather like Eva's, floating gently down to him from her perfect mouth. Cleansing and calming him. It was a healing voice.
"I'm here, Ben. Calm down- I can tell you're afraid."
"I'm not. I'm not afraid, ma'am."
"It's all right, Ben. You're allowed to be afraid. It's a very frightening situation. You would have died had I not found you in the darkness and guided you to My altar."
Ben gulped, tasting sour thin blood. "You brought me here, ma'am?"
"I did. Aren't you going to say thank you?"
"Sorry, ma'am- thank you. Thank you." There was a pause. "It's a beautiful altar, ma'am."
"I'm glad you like it."
"Is Eva with you?"
"She is. She's very happy. She stays in bed as long as she likes every single morning. Then she eats a big breakfast and goes to lie in the sun, watching the clouds. I have given her a piano to make the music she loved to hum. Do you know what a piano is, Ben?"
"I'm not sure."
"I shall show you..."
Strains of piano music drifted over Ben, who was breathing hard. "Eva made that song."
"Did she?"
"Yes. The Good Place certainly befits your brave sister."
Relief washed over Ben. "That's wonderful, ma'am. Does she miss me?"
"She misses you terribly. She asks after you, and Max, and Zack and Tinga and all the others every single day. As do Jack and Danny and the others who died in the escape."
"Which ones?" demanded Ben. "Which ones are with you?"
"This I cannot say. But if you are a good soldier, Ben, and always believe in me, someday you will come to me and find out."
"That's... that's fair, ma'am. I'm sorry I was rude."
"I will forgive you, Ben. You are frightened and in pain and alone."
"Could- could I see You, ma'am?"
The voice boomed in anger. "Don't you see my statue, Ben? Am I not smiling at you?"
"Yes-"
"Did I not bring you to Me, and tell you of your sister?"
"You did."
"Ben," the voice said, more gently now. "Ben, a deity cannot be properly seen. It must be believed. Do you know what a deity is, Ben?"
"I think I can guess."
"Yes?"
"A deity is You, ma'am, and only You. You're the only one who loves me and cares for me."
Delightful laughter made Ben giddy with happiness. He had made Her happy. "Clever young man. But you know that is not accurate. Your brothers and sisters love you too. Very, very much. But I... love you more than anyone in the world."
"I love you too, ma'am. I'll always believe in You until the very end."
"Good boy. You lie still at My altar and sleep. You're tired, aren't you?"
"Really tired." Realisation dawned on him. "You're leaving me." Ben's voice was sullen.
"I'm never going to leave you as long as you believe in Me. I will protect you, Ben. Now, say a prayer before you drift off to sleep."
Tears pricked at his eyes. "Blue Lady of Manticore, I am Ben of the X5 group. Keep my brothers and sisters safe. Bestow Your blessing on my dead brothers Danny and Jack and my dead sister, Eva, and all of the X5 class. Keep me safe from the Nomalies. I believe in You."
His eyes closed and Ben slept.
Ben's hand fell to the floor. He tensed. Ben shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep as someone bent over him. "Little boy, are you all right?"
"Mmmrrph."
"What?"
"Yeah, I'm all right."
The speaker was a woman in her late twenties. "You poor little boy," she said, and Ben sucked in a breath of alarm as she pulled him into a sitting position, took a look at him and hugged him. "There's blood all over your mouth. Have- have you been crying?"
"I don't think so."
"How did you come to be here?"
"I came... to Her altar. She called me over here. She calls me to Her all the time. She wanted me to lie still at Her altar. I knew She'd keep me safe from... out THERE. And She did. She's real, and She protects me and my family from harm."
The woman gave a smile. "That's so wonderful. So few children nowadays are religious. What's your name?"
Ben looked up at the statue's calm brown eyes and smiled, imagined to be sharing a private joke with Her.
She gave his head the tiniest of shakes. No. Not a joke. A very serious matter. The name he'd given himself in tribute to Her, upon fleeing Manticore.
"Benjamin Blueman," he said, and forced his eyes from the Lady's wondrous face.
* * * * *
The day after the Pulse, Zack could hardly contain his delight. This was too perfect. The other escapees were officially off the radar- with all the computers fried it'd take Manticore forever to catch up with his family.
Trouble was, it was taking Zack equally long to do just that.
As he wandered down a street filled with people looting stores or fleeing for the bus and train stations, something touched his foot.
Zack looked down and did a double take. Max's face glared up at him.
With a mixture of rage and fear, he perused the paper.
'MISSING
(Underneath this bold black word was Max's last Manticore mugshot. Zack felt a wistful twinge as he looked into her eyes, but steeled himself and read)
Young girl of 9-10 yrs, answers to the name of Max.
Can be distinguished by a barcode tattoo on the back of her neck.
May be accompanied by another child, a 9-10 yrs. girl who answers to name of Jondy.
Any information on the whereabouts of Max would be appreciated.
Cash reward is offered for her safe return.'
Underneath this was a telephone number. Angrily, Zack looked up. Who could have done this? Who was looking for Max?
HIS Max. She belonged to him, and he to her. As it was with all X5s. Nobody had any right to this.
Unless...
His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
MANTICORE. It was Manticore, Zack knew it. They were looking for Max. She was in danger and it was his responsibility to protect his sister from their evil. They obviously wanted to throw her back into a cage.
You should have found her by now, 599, snarled the voice in Zack's head that always popped up in the rare incidents he felt unhappy and ashamed. It's YOUR fault that Max is in danger.
But who was to say Max was the only one in danger? His blood ran cold at the thought of other posters, thousands and thousands of copies posted all over the city. Posters for Tinga. Roman. Krit. Jondy. Ben. Omri. Zane. Brin. Syl.
Max...
Why didn't you spend more time trying to find them? snapped the voice, blatantly ignoring the fact that Zack had been spending his every waking moment doing absolutely nothing other than trying to track down the other escapees.
He spied a man and woman hurrying down the street, two young children in tow. All were loaded down with bags and if Zack dilated his pupils he could see they were carrying sector passes. Fleeing the city. He snorted. Cowards. HE wasn't afraid of anything.
The woman frowned and stopped, looking around behind her. Their eyes locked for a second. She gave him, a grave-looking eleven-year-old who was big for his age, a weak smile and carried on her way.
POSTERS.
He saw them suddenly, peeping out of her carrier bag. A thick wad of them. He could even make out the G in MISSING.
They were from Manticore. Zack knew it. He didn't care about the children; they'd probably been recruited to make the adults look innocent. Maybe they were X6s; he'd seen them occasionally around the barracks.
He started to follow. He was seething with rage. They were endangering his family.
They crossed the street. He knew it. They were trying to shake him off. She'd probably seen him, recognised him, and seen the poster in his hands.
His hands. Zack looked at them for a second. They were shaking in rage. He disregarded the fact that Ordinaries were rarely so observant.
Maybe they weren't even Ordinaries. They could be transgenics as well.
He broke into a jog and followed them across the street. He imagined what he'd say.
Zack would tap the woman on the shoulder and brandish the MISSING poster. "Looking for her?" he'd ask venomously, and then punch her in the head. The man would be next. He didn't care about the kids. If they were X6s, they'd be too inexperienced and afraid to fight back.
The man looked around him and darted out into the road, flagging down a car. The group climbed inside.
Zack stopped breathlessly, glowering. He pounded a fist against a plate glass window in frustration and barely heeded the spectacular cracks blooming over the weathered glass. They'd eluded him.
"I'll keep you safe, Maxie," he said aloud. "They'll never throw you back in a cage."
* * * * *
A week after the Pulse, Jace stood in line in the martial arts classroom with her usual glare. In a month or two all the X-series of Wyoming were being transported to a facility in Washington. The Pulse hadn't really been a problem for them- the Committee (whoever they were) had gotten them illegal power within the night, and had installed a generator soon after.
They'd been returning from a training mission in the Manticore forest when the lights of the barracks had flickered out. She'd parted the ferns in her grimy hands and frowned as darkness shrouded Manticore.
"What happened?" asked Amna, staring over her shoulder. Jace growled at her.
"Yeah, what happened to the lights?"
Yells were coming from the barracks that their hearing picked up instantly.
"Don't do anything dumb, troops," called Jace.
A rifle clicked in the darkness.
"I SAID don't do anything dumb, X5-572!" snapped Jace.
"How'd you know it was m-AAAARGH!" screamed Splint in pain as he managed to shoot himself in the arm. He braced himself against a tree, his pained eyes luminous in the darkness.
Cloe squealed. There were gasps.
"Shit, 572!" scolded Jace bossily. Jace didn't have much of a problem with swearing as a child, but it had upset the others so she'd kept it to a minimum.
The others. Those traitors.
Kill, kill, kill...
"That's not very kind," remarked Clay in his usual wise guy style. "What hurts, 572?"
"My arm. And I think my rash just got worse."
"That's not a rash, that's poison ivy, you dumbass! How many times must I tell you?"
Splint shook his head. "I did not fall in poison ivy. I'm not that stupid," he snapped.
"Could've fooled me," muttered someone. There were murmurs of agreement.
"Keep it together, soldiers!" bellowed Jace. "Fall in!"
"Ma'am, yes ma'am!" yelled the other X5s. Jace was leader of the mission. Now that the older and more capable X5s had flown the coop, Jace was ALWAYS leader of the mission.
"About face!"
They turned.
"Forward march! X5-619, help 572."
"Yes, ma'am!" barked Cloe, going to help Splint. The little group marched through the trees and down the hills towards the gates of the inner perimeter.
Jace blinked and it was day again. There was no productivity in reflecting on the past. She was nine years old, that was far too old to indulge in ridiculous dreams and pointless reveries.
It was certainly too old to love her X5 brothers and sisters. Especially the ones who'd gotten away.
* * * * *
It was June the first again. A whole year of this new Depression.
Ten-year-old Max Guevara (then Max Murdoch) sat on a cliff overlooking the sea. A police siren wailed in the city behind her, but she was oblivious. She just watched the dying sun cast its rays on the water.
Her bicycle, a gift from her newest foster parents, lay on its side in the dirt, her backpack dangling from its handlebars. She was running again.
She sighed, propping her chin upon her hand. Then she leaned back on both hands and raised her face to the sun. Before she jumped up and pedalled away as fast as she possibly could, Max prayed to the Lady to guide her.
Max cast one last look at the waves before she rose. For as she beheld the pure beauty of nature, a thing so rare in a world still shaken from the Pulse, Max Murdoch (one day to be Max Guevara) dreamed of her family.
* * *
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue.
NOTE: I'm rather proud of this fic. I've been working on it for ages. At about five today I had a sudden burst of inspiration and completed all the X5s from Brin and Tinga right through to Max.
To find out who the dark-haired woman with MISSING posters was, read my fic 'Lost Daughter'. The Crushing On Ben thing is once again a reference to my fanfic 'Named By Nature'. Also, to find out why I ended Tinga and Brin's bit thusly, read my fic 'I Remember You'.
I am also planning a fic about Krit and Syl as teenagers, complete with flashbacks. What fun.
Laters, all!