Truancy Origins (13 page)

Zen raised his eyebrows at Umasi.

“I was thinking of a strategy game,” Zen said. “Preferably a cooperative one. You know, so that we can play it together.”

The Mayor interrupted again. “A strategy game? You shouldn't be playing games too much. Isn't there something more constructive for you to do?”

Zen smiled. “Trust me, Father, I'm going to get many constructive things done in the coming days.”

“Ah, you know, Zen, maybe you shouldn't try that game,” Umasi said. “It seems pretty difficult. You might lose.”

Zen shrugged. “Oh, we might lose, I'm sure. But the point would be that we tried.”

The Mayor looked sharply at both Zen and Umasi. “Speaking of trying, I happened to receive the latest attendance report today. There better have been a mistake, or I'd be very disappointed with the both of you—just because you are my sons doesn't mean you can break the rules as you wish! Do you know what a serious thing it is, to be a truant?”

Umasi felt an instinctive surge of panic, but Zen remained completely calm.

“Believe me, Father, I was disappointed that day as well,” Zen said quietly. “It was all my fault, though. I coerced Umasi into going along with it.
But I assure you, it won't happen again . . .
ever
. After all, I do indeed know how serious it is, to be a Truant.”

Umasi shook his head as Zen and their father exchanged words about the evils of truancy, leaving him totally forgotten. At least it now felt like old times, Umasi realized. He had probably spoken more during that dinner than he had at any five others combined.

Watching his brother, Umasi couldn't wait for the dinner to end as the look in Zen's eyes grew increasingly dangerous. And yet, at the same time, Umasi dreaded what might happen once dinner was over.

 

T
his feels . . . strange,
Zen noted idly as he zipped up his backpack.
Am I really going to do this to Umasi? Have things changed that much?

Though he kept asking himself those questions, he already knew the answers. After all, they had been so obvious for quite a while, and Zen was not in denial. It had all started with the revelation and the betrayal, the boundless outrage slowly boiling inside of him. It festered, growing stronger over time. Zen was perfectly capable of thinking and planning rationally, but only in the service of his intoxicating obsession. It mastered him, consumed him. A relentless fixation, it lay in wait in the dark corners of his mind, omnipresent and omnipotent. It knotted his guts, it blackened his heart, and it poisoned his thoughts.

It was the greatest feeling he had ever experienced.

He couldn't escape it.

He didn't
want
to escape it.

Am I going insane?
Zen wondered as he shifted the backpack aside.
Or returning to sanity?

Zen reflected on what he was about to do, and then burst into laughter at a sudden realization. This was nothing new after all. He was simply going to fulfill a dream that he had always had. What student had never dreamed of rebelling against school? But he, among all the students of the City, had the ability to realize that dream. All he had been missing was justification, motivation, the drive to set it all in motion . . . .

And now, at last, he had it.

Zen smiled grimly and reached for the black windbreaker jacket hanging from a peg, buttoning it around his neck, leaving the sleeves loose so that it splayed behind him like a cape. Zen then slung his backpack onto his shoulder. Its original school contents had long since been emptied out upon the floor, replaced by more practical items. He was dressed warmly, with a black sweater and two other layers besides. He clenched his fists, savoring for a moment the new feeling of freedom and empowerment coursing through his body.

Then the door opened, and Umasi entered the room, staring at Zen.

“You're not here to play a game,” Zen observed, folding his arms.

“No, I'm not,” Umasi agreed, walking over to his desk. “Were you going somewhere?”

“I still am.”

“I see,” Umasi said, looking away. “You know, I've had an idea. What if we confronted Dad about this? Do you think we might be able to change something?”

“No.” Zen snorted. “He views us as lab rats.”

“You can't honestly believe that.”

“It's the truth!”

“So you're really determined to do this then?” Umasi asked, his voice strained. “Without even trying anything else?”

“You and I both know the answer to that,” Zen replied as he retrieved a baseball bat from under his bed and began examining it. “And what about you? Is your decision final?”

Umasi sighed, still unable to face Zen.

“When I see classmates and teachers, I see lives, Zen. I'm not like you. I can't see them as calculations or part of a greater scheme,” Umasi said. “I'm not going to take part in anything that'll end those lives.”

Zen quietly walked behind Umasi, still examining his baseball bat.

“So your final answer is no?”

“That's right.” Umasi nodded as he sadly looked down at the pages of schoolwork strewn across his desk.

“I'm afraid it's your choice to make.” Zen sighed. “But just one thing, Brother . . .”

“What?”

“I'm sincerely sorry about this.”

Before Umasi could pick up on the danger in those words, Zen raised the baseball bat and brought it crashing down upon Umasi's head. Umasi crumpled to the ground, rendered unconscious by the blow. Zen bent down to examine Umasi, and after satisfying himself that his brother was merely asleep (and would remain so for a while) he proceeded over to the dresser.

Resting atop it, in their customary places, were the two account cards labeled
Z
and
U
. Zen ran his fingers over one, then the other, before seizing both and slipping them into his pockets.

It would really begin that night, Zen exulted as he exited the room and made his way down to the lobby. As he slipped out a service entrance of the mansion to avoid the watchman, he felt the cold, liberating winter air hit his face. He pulled the hood of the windbreaker over his head and
then headed straight for District 7, the closest abandoned district on his map.

At last, there would be no more waiting.

He would finally teach the City the meaning of Truancy.

Dear Sirs,

I know that it has been some time since my last report. As always, no news tends to be good news, especially in this City. I must admit that when I was first assigned here, the idea of using academics to control a population seemed absurd to me. But after years of seeing these Educators at work, I cannot help but be impressed. All signs indicate that this City and the methods behind it have been successful. Civil unrest is unheard of, violent demonstrations nonexistent, and open rebellion a fairy tale. My personal recommendation is, and has long been, that we adopt this City's philosophy immediately. However I understand that my opinion is not the one that matters concerning that greatest of steps.

As for the two children entrusted into the Mayor's care, I have not had an opportunity to meet them myself. However, and you must forgive my editorializing, I believe that the Mayor is as fine a guardian as we could have hoped for. Of course, he is dedicated to his work, and his results are more impressive than any Mayor before him—but at the same time he seems to possess a genuine sympathy for his adopted sons. Indeed, this attachment is no secret among his staff. I will continue to monitor the situation, but thus far I have been given no reason not to believe that the boys are in excellent hands.

Your Servant,
207549627    

 

 

 

A
sudden spasm of pain jerked Red awake. He didn't get up immediately, but instead shut his eyes and groaned loudly in protest. As if in response, the pain prodded him again, harder, forcing him to sit up. Red winced and clutched his gut, which swiftly gave him a third agonizing jolt, insuring that he was really conscious.

“Okay, okay, I'm up,” Red complained, stretching his back and limbs.

Red had seen better days. The winter was already proving to be a nasty one, and the first snowfall days ago had been murder on his stamina. The City's snowplows did not clear out the abandoned districts, and the last of that first snow had only melted the day before. Without the relative safety provided by the gang, Red had taken to sleeping in a different place every night. To do so, Red had to trudge through wet snow, sogginess penetrating all three layers of his clothing. Wet, freezing, alone, and hungry. Not the best of combinations.

On the other hand, Red had also seen worse days, but he didn't really like to think about those. Ever.

Cursing his appendix as he finished stretching, Red felt his stomach growl. Only in their absence had Red realized that he'd gotten used to Chris' gang sharing information about what food sources were safe at what times. Without those tips, it had been especially difficult to find edible things, and though the snow had faded, Red didn't foresee it getting any easier. The only bright side was that Red had recently overheard a couple of other vagrants talking about Chris. Apparently the boy was still alive, along with at least some of his crew. Still, Red had no idea where to find them, and any search for them could also lead him right to their rivals, who probably hadn't gotten over their last encounter with Red.

Red's stomach growled again, punctuated by an especially sharp stab of pain in his gut. Red slapped at the general area of his appendix and scowled at the resulting agony, his mind drawn back to practicality.

“All right then,” Red muttered. “I'll just have to feed myself.”

Before he awoke, Red had been sleeping in the stairwell of an abandoned office building in District 8. He found that even without heating or lights, it was relatively warm and dry, and no one had discovered him there. Ignoring the complaints of his body, Red raced down the stairs to the ground floor and quickly exited the building. Jogging steadily, it didn't take him long to run across District 8 and reach the border of the lively District
5. As he ran, he tried not to pay much attention to the dead and largely crumbling buildings. Maybe the hunger was playing tricks on his mind, but he didn't like the way they seemed to leer at him in the pale morning sun, their dirty, clouded windows staring like dead eyes.

As Red reached the border of District 7, he slipped down another back alley, running down it until he reached a chain-link fence. Using the links as footholds, Red swiftly climbed over it, his heart beating faster as he dropped down into an alley of District 5. Already he could hear and see glimpses of people walking on the sidewalk—simultaneously his predators and his prey.

Silently edging down the alley, Red tried to gauge the number of people treading the sidewalk. He quickly determined that it wasn't busy enough to be a weekday; he'd lost track of the days a long time ago. This was a mixed blessing. On one hand, he would have been harder to pick out in a large crowd. On the other, if he were discovered, he'd have a much better chance of escaping through a sparse crowd. In any case, he didn't have much of a choice. There was no way he could afford to wait around for a day or two.

With his angry gut prodding at him to hurry up, Red took a deep breath and sniffed the air as he inspected the street as best he could. There didn't seem to be any food stands around, so there was no way for him to directly steal something to eat. Still, Red smiled; there were always the pedestrians passing by the mouth of the alleyway. Spotting a well-dressed elderly man with a wallet sticking out of his pocket, Red sprung into action, slipping out of the alley and onto the streets. No one seemed to notice him, or at least didn't care enough to point him out. That was typical; Red found that citizens of the City usually tried to ignore him, which was really the best treatment that he could expect from them.

Red and the man in front of him waited at a street corner for the stop sign to change, along with a number of other people bunched up tightly in the queue. When the light did change, the elderly man, along with the rest of the group, rushed forward across the street trying to make up for lost time, leaving Red all alone on the curb. Red grinned as he slipped the man's wallet into one of his pockets. No one had seen a thing.

Red next targeted a woman who was busy talking on her cell phone. As she walked along, oblivious of her fellow pedestrians, Red sneaked up behind her and drew her wallet from out of her handbag. Unfortunately for him, however, this time he was spotted, and a man grabbed his arm before he could pocket his plunder.

“Got you!” the man shouted triumphantly, turning to look for the woman whose wallet Red had stolen. “Miss! Hey miss, this brat stole your wallet!”