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It’s hot in the Zones–scorching, the kind of heat that makes you choke on thick air and soak yourself in sweat and give yourself the worse migraine you’ve had in a while. It doesn’t help that the old Volkswagen Anna drives lost its AC months ago, or that the clothes she has on right now aren’t the thinnest material, but changing clothes is a luxury these days, reserved only for those in the City, or those who have managed to swipe up a few extra pairs of pants and a some old t-shirts–and judging by the soaking wet pair of pants she has tucked away in her trunk, it’s a luxury she doesn’t have.
She sighs, taking a moment to swipe the back of her hand across her brow in a feeble attempt to hinder the sweat that’s pouring into her eyes, bopping her head slightly to the fuzzy beat of the old Prince cassette she’s blasting through the car. The road ahead is long, but it’s the only way to Zone 2. If she doesn’t get there by nightfall, she’ll be down another 200 carbons and another week on her goal. It’s her main priority right now. She applies more pressure to the gas, not even noticing when the old air freshener falls off her mirror and flies into the back seat.
Without looking, Anna reaches into the music player and switches to the other side of the cassette, simultaneously using her left hand to execute a sharp turn west onto Route Guano. She sighs again, checking her back mirror to see a brightly colored car zooming north, spinning around in circles like a maniac.
Really? She rolls her eyes, turning them back to the road. They’re gonna get themselves killed.
☀
It’s not like Anna hasn’t been to an alleyway like this one before (she goes to one almost every week) but the simple fact of being so close to the City makes her stomach churn in paranoia. She grips the small, opaque bag tightly against her hip as she leans up against the back wall, looking up as the sky progressively darkens. She just hopes that she isn’t being stood up, that this isn’t some ploy by BL/ind, that she still has time.
“Cyber Flash?” a scratchy voice inquires, and Anna can see a short figure wandering into the alleyway. The only light comes from the abandoned gas station next to them, and she can just barely make out a masculine body. Or, at least it looks like a guy.
“Do you have the money?” she cuts right to the chase, pushing herself off of the brick wall and taking a few cautious steps towards the figure; she fails to make out any further details.
“Yes, yes–I have the money,” the figure reaches an arm into his pocket, taking a long time fishing through it. Anna clenches her legs, ready to bolt if instead of money he fished out a ray gun or knife. He seems to see this, stalling with, “Give me one second.”
She puts her free hand in the air--careful. “Take your time.”
“Fifty, right?”
She scratches the back of her hair. She exhales, “Two-hundred.”
“What?” The figure freezes in his tracks, a head turning to look in her direction. “My friend told me you sold for fifty carbons, not two-hundred.”
“Demand is lower–prices are higher,” she lies through her teeth, but it’s the only way to get what she wants. If she just told him that she was running low on stock, trying to get as much as she can before her metaphorical bank account flatlines, business wouldn’t be going as smoothly as it used to. Or, well, almost as smoothly as it used to.
“Since when?”
“Since...since my regular clients chose withdrawal.”
The air is silent for a few moments, the oxygen thickening and making it harder to breathe. It’s humid; a storm will be coming within the next day. The figure stares at her, seems to be contemplating if it’s really worth it. Anna knows that there are knock-off sellers that sell for much lower prices. It wouldn’t be that hard to find something that gave the same effects. She subconsciously squeezes the bag tighter, feeling around for the plastic bottle inside.
“One-hundred.”
“One-fifty.”
“One-twenty-five.”
She thinks for a moment, taking it all in. If it’s the best she can get… “One-thirty.”
“Deal.”
Her job is often like this: meet up with your client, exchange goods, and get out before any pigs can catch you in the act. She walks forward, keeping the fear of being caught in the back of her mind, reminding herself that she has a knife in her back pocket. She would hate to use it (she has in the past, purely as a method of intimidation), but it’s a necessity in this line of work. Generally, with any occupation in the Zones, it’s kill or be killed. You have to always be prepared.
She holds the canvas bag out like it’s an offering, but still distances herself from the figure. She only hopes that the shadows continue to conceal her identity as the figure snatches the bag from her, dropping the coins into the palm of her hand. The metal pieces clink against each other. It’s music to her ears.
☀
The drive home is only slightly more pleasant. By the time she’s able to start heading back east to Zone 5, it’s nighttime, and the moon is concealed by dark clouds that threaten to pour. She grips the steering wheel and assesses what she can see of the ominous sky. It’s always been more dangerous to travel at night, despite the almost clear traffic. There’s sneaky Dracs and coyotes that roam busy streets like Guano, plus the constant chance that some S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W exterminator could be on a night prowl for killjoys. She switches her low-beams on and merges onto an exit somewhere near Zone 3. It’s better, she decides, to find someplace to stop for the night. The last thing she wants is some acid rainstorm tearing more holes through her roof.
She pulls off the highway and onto a side road, speeding up as thunder rumbles in the distance. After fifteen minutes of searching and speeding, her eyes catch a small mobile home–a few, actually–that managed to survive the Wars. One is almost completely submerged in sand, but the other two seem stable, so Anna parks her car under a ripped tarp and ignores the dangerously low fuel gauge. She’ll fill up her tank in the morning.
Just as the first droplets of rain begin to patter on the tarp above, Anna rushes to her trunk (which takes a full minute to push up) and pulls out a few essentials–protein bars, a bottle of water, a thin blanket, and, hesitantly, the small camo drawstring that contains her valuable supply–stuffing them into a red hiking backpack that her twin brother, Adrien, would use just months earlier. She pauses as she pushes the fabric between her fingers, mind flashing back to when they were a team, when they were surviving together, but lightning strikes a nearby bush and Anna’s startled out of her thoughts. She slams the trunk closed.
She hops into the front seat and digs under the chair, fishing out her two favorite cassettes and a pair of headphones. The damn car doesn’t lock, so she leaves it as it is, pulls out the key, and rushes to the front of the trailer, picking the lock and shutting the weathered door behind her.
“Goddamn,” she heaves as a clap of thunder rattles her temporary shelter. Obviously, it’s not as safe as she’d like, but it’s all she has for the moment, so she makes do and settles herself down on the dusty couch with a stale granola bar and a classical music cassette. She sticks it in the antique cassette-player, plugs her headphones into her ears and lays back, drowning out the storm with relaxing piano sonatas, eventually drifting off to sleep.
☀
Or, she sleeps through the storm until she’s brought back to her senses no more than two hours later, with a tight grip on her arm and a cold circle pressing against her forehead. At first, Anna doesn’t think much of it–just tries to roll over onto her other side, but the grip on her forearm tightens, and she realizes what’s going on. Fuck .
She’s been discovered.
By who–she’s not exactly sure. But there are voices coming from all parts of the room, and she’s convinced herself that cold circle is the barrel of someone’s ray gun. She’s either being detained or robbed. She doesn’t know which is worse. Her stomach churns in panic, all side effects of the pills being hindered by fear. A small part of Anna’s mind wishes that she had taken a larger dose.
“That car–it must be her’s,” a close-by voice starts, calm and assertive. She wonders if pretending to be asleep would make them go away. “Someone go search it.”
A chuckle comes from across the room–maybe by the entrance? “Ha, you think that thing still works?”
“Doubt it,” comes a new voice. “Thing probably broke down back during the Helium Wars.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be so generous.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Thing had to be used back–”
“Guys–” the first voice stops them.
“Okay, okay, fine,” there’s a sigh, “I’ll go.”
“Jet, find anything in that bag?”
There’s a pause as Anna sucks in a breath. The pills.
“Jet?”
“Party, take a look.” Anna squeezes her eyes shut as the gun barrel is removed from her forehead and the hand releases her forearm. But Anna lays still; the drugs in her system are slowing down her rapid heartbeat and trying to calm her shaking nerves. But what’s going on outside of her facade is more terrifying than any BL/ind medicine could cover up.
“Oh, boy…”
The gun, in an instant, returns to her temple. “I think we should just ghost her,” one of the joking voices from earlier suggests.
“No, no, she could be from the City. She could be our way in.”
No, she can’t go to Battery City. Not now, not ever. The door flies open. Her breathing quickens–the drugs are wearing off.
“Found a bunch of dupe goop in her trunk,” a voice bursts, and shit , she’s beyond dust now. “Woah, what’s that?”
Anna bites her lip against her own will, and earns a hearty chuckle from whoever’s holding the gun to her head. Her heartbeat is rapidly catching up to her breathing.
“Looks like someone’s awake!” The gun nudges her forehead playfully. “Time to open your eyes, tumbleweed.”
She squeezes her eyes tighter.
“Ghoul,” the same voice commands, and five gunshots fire into the ceiling within the next second. Anna’s eyes fly open in shock and she shoots up, fists clenched at her sides and her chest heaving irregular breaths. “Now that’s better.”
The man in front of her–god damn him–has a smirk plastered on his face, and his playful manner matches his playful, bright red hair perfectly. He holds the gun, now angled in her direction but not touching her body. Directly behind him is a man in a green vest and sporting long black hair (he must be Ghoul; his gun is still pointing in the air, and a smile of genuine pleasure is plastered on his face). There’s also the guy holding her camo bag–a guy with a soft face and wild curls, his hands gripping the top of the drawstring tight–and the guy holding her supply of dupe goop–he has blonde hair and a bright red jacket, a helmet reading ‘GOOD LUCK’ dangling from his other hand.
Anna takes in these people–she’s sure her eyes are moving a mile a minute–and realizes she hasn’t seen another killjoy in weeks. She hasn’t seen this particular set of killjoys in anything except wanted posters and magazines.
She looks them all over once more, and simply gulps.
The leader gets out of his crouching position and stands up, pointing his gun back down at Anna. Her eyes stop moving and she looks to him, her eyes hopefully firm. He stares her up and down, at her tattered denim vest and her ripped black jeans (no doubt they think she’s a fake–she’s way too monochromatic), and tilts his chin up.
Anna swallows, expecting him to say something, but he just tightens his grip on his blaster and blinks a few times. The brunette exhales.
“So, uh, nice weather we’re having, huh?” she asks as some form of icebreaker, feeling the fabric of the couch between her fingers. Ghoul walks one step behind Red, a smirk playing on his lips.
“It’s raining.”
Anna flips her head around and–shit–it’s still storming outside. “Right…”
There’s silence for a few moments, tension filling the air like a wet sponge. It’s then that she hears the pitter-patter of droplets on the old roof, then Red’s voice overpowering the calming sound. “Do you have a supplier?”
Anna whips her head around to the leader, her shoulders stiff and the corners of her mouth turned slightly downwards. “Excuse me?”
“These,” Red snatches the camo bag from curly-hair’s hands, dumping the contents–bottles and bottles of BL/ind issued happy pills–onto the coffee table. “Who gave them to you?”
Anna stares at the bottles rolling around on the hardwood for a second, trying to think of some excuse. She can’t tell them she got them from her brother who happened to work in the City–can’t she?
“I–they’re not mine.”
Red quirks a brow. “They’re not?” He trains his gun on her again, but takes his eyes off of her for a second as he reaches down and picks up a bottle. “Whose are they, then?”
She throws her arms up in false exasperation, “I don’t know! They were here when I got here!” After two years, the black market has made her a great liar. Whether or not she wants to, she can keep a lie going long enough to escape. She’ll never be as good as her brother was (and even he got caught), but for now, it’ll do. She’ll do anything if it means making it past the infamous Fab Four alive.
“She’s lying,” the blond kid with her dupe goop calls from the back of the room, all eyes turning to him. “There was a bottle in her glove compartment.”
Red flashes his eyes back to Anna, taking a step forward. Anna leans back.
“If you’re from the City, tell us now.”
She stares at the barrel of his gun. “Well, uh, I mean...”
“You mean what ?”
She gnaws on her lip, sitting up slightly. “Well, I’m not from the city…”
Anna looks at the four killjoys scattered across the room. Red still has his gun aimed at her forehead, but it’s lower now, probably as he concentrates on the conversation he’s having. The blond kid still holds her dupe goop closely, like she’s going to up and steal it back or something. The curly haired man has his arms crossed across his chest, and Ghoul is tapping his foot on the ground. The only thing common between the four is the look of pure annoyance and confusion etched on their faces.
Ghoul’s getting impatient; suddenly, he gestures with his hand to the bottles. “Who is, then? Your imaginary friend Pill-bo?” In response, Red simply elbows Ghoul in the side. “Ow!”
“Er, uh, my brother–he’s from the City,” she heaves, not sure if she’s admitting this because she wants to or if she’s scared, “he gives me the pills, I sell them.”
“You’re with the black market?”
She simply gestures to the blond kid, to the dupe goop in his hand. “Having a contact in the city helps get authentic supplies. Authentic supplies sell.”
Ghoul whispers something in Red’s ear, hushed for the most part, but when he leans away his volume escalates. “This is what we’ve been looking for.” They both nod.
“Where is your brother...in the city?” Red begins, and he’s met with confused looks from the two people in the back. “He has to be pretty high up, right? If he could get you a large supply of pills.”
“My brother, he’s, uh…” Anna’s eyes flash between the leader and Ghoul as she debates revealing her brother’s death. Nobody even knew his position in Battery City when he was alive. She takes a deep breath, “um,” and then it slips out, “He’s one of the–the scientists. He works in the environmental...Environmental Recovery Unit.”
“How does he get you pills, then?”
“He,” she thinks back to how they would exchange goods in the past. She would give him money, he would give her goods to get more money. It was a worthwhile trade, perfect for saving up so they could leave this place one day. Too bad that half of their earnings are gone. “He brings them out on trips with the agency–trash pick-ups–they make it seem like some sort of amazing feat that would be rewarded with more happiness and that shit,” she laughs quietly, “He brings them out then.”
Anna remembers how she would drive all the way down to Zone 1, where the environment isn’t actually that bad, and her and Adrien would complain about the City and it’s faults and they’d both get something physical and emotional from it. Ever since Adrien had gone into the city it was hard for them to communicate. When they got the chance, they would talk about their parents and how what was once a very close brother-sister relationship morphed into black-market deals and lies and not knowing if the other is going to make it to the next day. Anna and Adrien were planning to leave the Zones in July. Adrien was executed in June.
“Hello?” Someone’s waving in her face and Anna shakes her head. She’s still frowning–why? Her attention is drawn to the group still in front of her, their eyes boring into her sudden silence.
“Sorry, sorry,” she rambles anxiously, becoming aware once more of the ray gun just two feet in front of her. “Zoned out.”
“Clearly,” Ghoul comments to the side, accompanying it with a snarky laugh.
“Ghoul, Jet, Kobra,” The leader calls back, “Go back into her car and find anything you can from the City–”
“Hey!”
“–I have an idea.”
Ghoul and the blond kid–Kobra? He looked up at that name–pout and shuffle their feet out the door, the curly-haired kid–Jet, he has to be–following close behind. Now Anna’s left with Red, and all she can see is mischief and adrenaline glinting in his eyes.
“Now, you’re going to help us, whether you like it or not.”
Anna’s heart drops into her chest and the realization sinks in. She has a long road ahead of her, both physically and mentally.