BlueK Dynasty: The 1st Seven Days (17 page)

“
You
know, you ask about a hundred questions,” Kurma joked. “Does your
mind always move that fast?”
  

“
Pretty
much.” Rimselda laughed. She had a light voice and a childish
giggle. Kurma wondered why she was homeless; she wanted to ask
Rimselda about her story but thought better of it. At the moment
she didn’t need to hear another sob story. She needed to make
moves. Rome wasn’t built in a day, so Kurma didn’t want to rush too
much, but she did want to see some major
developments.
  

If this girl really was a
runaway and knew of other runaway teens then Kurma could come into
the picture and persuade, coax, lure, entice, or whatever she had
to do to get them to
 
think of her as a leader—their
leader. Most runaways ran away for a reason. Kurma could only
assume they had no guidance or leadership, and no one telling them
what to do. At least she hoped they didn’t. She would have problems
then.
  

Kurma wasn’t schooled in
the art of making friends, but she did know how to be an
authoritative figure. She had basically raised her twin brothers,
since her mother was always running behind her father. She knew how
to get someone to do what she wanted and was good at giving out
demands and orders. She recognized people’s talents and gifts and
knew how to use them to her advantage.
  

Being the older sister had
always had its perks. She was full of little tricks that could pit
one sibling against another. She made up rules that her brothers
had to live by; she didn’t see why she shouldn’t make up rules for
Rimselda’s friends. If she decided to turn all of the girl’s
friends into Raptors then their old lives were over; Kurma would be
in control of their new lives, or at least try to be, and guide
them as best she could, as she had guided her
brothers.
  
 

Kurma made her way toward
the door that led into the building from the roof. “Well, come on,”
she urged.
  

Rimselda quickly
followed.
  

And so it had
begun.
  

17.

Snowhill
  

Kurma’s OCD was in high
gear. Garbage and litter covered the ground as Rimselda led her
over the train tracks crossing the old station lot. Month-old
newspapers flew in the air, gusted up by the wind; weeds grew in
the cracks in the pavement. The parking lot lights had been
smashed, and glass was scattered here and there, making walking
more difficult.
  

“
At
night, what is this place like?” Kurma asked
Rimselda.
  

“
It’s a
war zone. You have to be smart and cunning, and above all lucky.
The more people you have, the better your chances are of surviving.
In the daytime all is quiet. People are asleep. But in the
nighttime…that’s when the Jeers come
out.”
  

Kurma had never heard of
Jeers. “I’m guessing they’re an after-dark posse that preys on the
weak, steals, beats up people, and extorts the good folk of the
train station.”
  

“
Don’t
be sarcastic. They’re not a joke. The Jeers are the biggest gang at
this station. They’re a bunch of punks with weapons. They take your
food, make you do things for them, and whatever they want they can
get because they have the numbers. If you’re a girl, you try to
avoid them. I wouldn’t be caught dead out at night around here,”
Rimselda told Kurma. Hopefully she would be smart enough to listen.
If Kurma wanted to live this kind of life then she would have to
get with the program.
  

The girls entered the
station. Kurma saw an old sign, half torn down and covered with
colorful graffiti. The sign read, “Snowhill Station: our tracks
lead to your own path.”
  

“
So
where does this gang live?” asked Kurma.
  

Rimselda answered, “They
stay right underneath our floor, actually. They have the second
level all to themselves. The leader’s younger sister is one of my
friends. He lets us stay up there. It’s a smaller room for sure,
but it’s better than everywhere else.”
  

“
The
sister, does she run things around here?”
  

“
No.
Whatever her older brother says goes. Our group is made up entirely
of girls. His sister, her name is April, is like the jokester out
of all of us. He looks out for us a bit, but nothing major.”
Rimselda led Kurma down some stairs and under an overhead pass
while she explained everything.
  

“
This
here is the quad. On Sundays it’s full of people buying and trading
stuff. It’s the main entrance into the station. Once you pass the
quad, you come up on the main entrance gates. After ten o’clock,
the gates are locked so there isn’t overcrowding in the station. I
wish you had a pen and some paper so you could take notes.” She
looked back at Kurma, who was taking everything
in.
  

“
Don’t
worry. I have everything stored up here.” She tapped her forehead.
She didn’t want to freak out, but this place was not her cup of
tea. It smelled dirty; it looked dirty, especially in the daytime;
and her senses were magnifying everything. She wanted to put on
some gloves and give this place a good cleaning. She could only
imagine the insects that lived here with these bottom
feeders.
  

“
If you
know someone who lives here already and it’s after hours, you’ll
need to meet them in the back so they can let you in. But I
wouldn’t suggest that, because that’s where the Jeers do most of
their work—in the back, in the dark, all night every night.
Remember that,” Rimselda continued. “I know you might think you’re
a badass with those daggers, but you haven’t met the Jeers. They
have daggers, knives, guns, pipes, chains, and rusty razorblades.
In
 
the dark everyone looks the same to them, so don’t think just
because you’re with our crew they’ll avoid you.”
  

“
Copy
Roger,” Kurma teased. She felt like she was headed to a boot camp
for teens. How fun.
  

The girls came to a stop
abruptly. Inside the train station was dark. Kurma heard murmurs
and voices and water dripping, and rats scurrying underground. She
smelled piss and feces. She almost gagged from the
stench.
  

“
This is
Snowhill.” Rimselda gestured with her arms in a grand motion.
“Behind the toll gates are the rest of the population, living in
and on the tracks. The bathrooms are regulated down here, and the
toll booths have guards on duty 24/7. You have to pay each and
every time you leave out of the gates. You cannot leave through the
tunnels because they’re occupied by families and housing. There are
guards at the end of each tunnel to block the way in and the way
out. The back entrance does not have toll booths, but it’s too
risky because all the younger boys are back there too, and they’re
almost as bad as the Jeers.”
  

Kurma tried to cover her
nose and take in everything Rimselda was saying. She looked behind
her and saw the sun shining outside. Inside, the sun never touched
the main gates. Here it was cold and gloomy; she could only imagine
living in the dark tunnels with the rest of the people. The stone
museum in the park was twenty times better than this
place.
  

Rimselda waved at the toll
booth guard, who wore plain clothes but had a huge gun rested on
his shoulder. He had no badge, no uniform, and no hat to identify
his role; the gun said it all: “Don’t mess with
me.”
  

“
Is he
trained to use that thing?” asked Kurma.
  

“
No.”
Rimselda sneered. “Anyway, up here is where things get
better.”
  

She directed Kurma up some
stairs to the right. “Do not enter” was painted on the stairway
wall in bold red. The girls’ footsteps echoed as they climbed to
the first level.
  

“
Here
are the Jeers’ security quarters. There’s a back way up to this
level and they come that way sometimes, so be careful. There’s only
one shower on this floor and two toilets. For some reason the guys
like to come on our level and use ours.
 
Do not let
them
. They’re hound dogs and not to be
trusted even if they want you to believe they’re the good
guys.”
  

Kurma looked down the
corridor and nodded her head in agreement. The hallway had big
windows on one side and several doors on the other. Everything
seemed peaceful up here. The wind had cleared out the stench from
downstairs.
  

“
Follow
me,” said Rimselda heading up to the next level. “The Jeers take up
the entire building’s span on this level. There are several rooms
here, full bathrooms stalls, a kitchen, a sitting area, and the
works. No one but the Jeers is allowed on this floor. Even their
security has to have permission.”
  

Rimselda looked at Kurma
to see if she understood this rule. “This is not a game. If a Jeer
comes on our level and bothers us, we’re supposed to let them in,
but nothing good can come from a Jeer. So we don’t answer and act
as if no one is in the room, and they leave us alone for a
while.”
  

The stairs became narrower
as the girls reached the third level.
  

“
It’s
not as grand and as big as the Jeers’, but it’s definitely a place
we can call our own,” said Rimselda. “Just for us girls.” She
giggled once more.
  

Kurma was afraid to see
what was behind the metal door. Kurma tried to control her
compulsiveness for order. She imagined clothes and shoes and junk
covering the floor. She felt her skin crawling at the
thought.
  

Rimselda rapped twice on
the door, skipped a beat, and gave a third knock. Minutes later she
heard the familiar bar being pulled back from the door. She had
never been happier to see her friends. It had been a crazy morning,
and she just wanted to be around some familiar faces. Jackie, who
had let her in, stood by the door. Chelsea and Nina, the two
younger girls, sat on bean bags in the corner, playing cards.
April, who was lying on her stomach on the one bed in the room,
looked up in confusion at the new girl. And last there was
O’bellaDonna, who was the oldest girl in the group and the most
mischievous girl Rimselda knew. She could talk her way out of
anything and everything under the sun. She had been sent to
boarding school when she was young and was expelled because she had
slept with the headmaster. Her parents had disowned her, and in
return she had stolen their life savings. She was on the run from
the police and liked to hide out in the train station with the
girls from time to time.
  

Jackie slammed the door
shut hard and loud. “Who’s this vagabond you’ve dragged in from the
cold?” She had always been one for theatrics.
  

“
Her
name is Kurma,” Rimselda replied.
  

“
Kurma?”
asked Jackie. “What kind of name is that? What are you, some kind
of plant?”
  

Kurma plastered a fake
smile onto her face. She would let Rimselda do the talking for now.
She didn’t want to ruffle any feathers…just yet. She silently
watched the thick girl in the back of the room from the corner of
her eye. She looked like a cat with a mouse in its mouth—up to no
good.
  

“
Kurma
is short for Karmenia. But no one ever gets that name right, so
it’s Kurma for short.”
  

“
Well,
shouldn’t it be Karma, since it’s spelled with an A?” asked a girl
seated on a black bag that resembled a
couch.
  

“
It’s
just Kurma.” She didn’t want to get snippy, but what her name was
shouldn’t have been an issue. She could be called LavenderRose for
all she cared. She just wanted to see who had the most potential to
become a Raptor. She crossed out the dingbat on the
couch.
  

“
She’s
cool, guys, trust me.” Rimselda tried to cover up Kurma’s curt
response with a cheerful tone.
  

“
Where
have you been all morning? Millie came by looking for you,”
O’bellaDonna said as she swung her big legs off the ledge of the
windowsill. “We were getting worried,
Rimy.”
  

She sashayed toward the
front of the room, taking in Kurma’s clothes and hair. “You clearly
aren’t homeless,” she said to everybody in the room. “Your clothes
smell clean.” O’bellaDonna sniffed Kurma. “Your hair doesn’t look
greasy, your nails aren’t grungy looking, and you aren’t sickly
thin.”
  

“
She’s
an intruder!” screamed Nina.