Broken Page 13

  Monica looked like she’d been struck again. She even rubbed her cheek, which was still red. "Hey," she began, eyes big, tears forming. "Hey, I didn’t—"

  "Oh, stuff it," he snapped bitterly. Monica started to cry.

  He listened to her sniffle for a few minutes, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. "Stop crying," he said. "Stop. Come on."

  "Fuck you," she said, miserable.

  He sat on the ground, still fuming.

  "They have Ian," he pointed out. "Did you even notice he was gone? You can’t even be bothered to change his diaper. But they have him, that Wayne guy has him. I don’t know where he is."

  "Oh." Monica got herself under control after a few minutes. "Okay. What do we do?"

  "We’re in prison!" he exploded. "We can’t do anything!"

  "You’re a prophet!" she yelled, standing, "Can’t you see something for us to do?"

  "No, I fucking can’t!" he screamed back, right in her face.

  "Well, why not?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Some prophet!"

  His shoulders slumped. "It doesn’t work that way, I told you. I can’t do a damn thing. I only get flashes…and they aren’t always useful." He looked up into her eyes.

  —Monica kissed him. "I love you," she said. He was so happy.

  What the hell? What had he just seen? He dismissed it, looking away.

  "You’re no help," she said.

  . "I try." He wasn’t angry anymore, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize to her.

  Did he really see what he thought he had seen? He couldn’t picture himself even liking Monica right now.

  They sat in opposite corners of the room, she on the cot, he on the floor, for many long minutes until a knock came at the door.

  "Stan’ back," Banner said. "Comin’ in."

  "Back," Michael called wearily.

  Banner and Parker entered, toting their weapons. Another soldier followed, carrying Ian.

  "Ian!" Michael and Monica said at the same time, springing to their feet.

  The other soldier handed Ian to Monica, and pointed at Michael. "You. Come upstairs."

  "Okay," Michael said, glancing back at Monica. She looked away.

  What? Not even a final “fuck you’“for good luck? he thought perversely. The door closed behind him, and they led him upstairs.

  * * *

  Colonel Wayne was sitting at his table again, this time alone. Some of the other soldiers were hanging around, watching with interest.

  "We heard you two yelling at each other," Wayne said.

  Shit, thought Michael.. Now what?

  "So," Wayne said. "You can see the future?" His eyes gleamed with greed and ambition. "Is that true? We heard you two fighting about it down there."

  Shit, shit, shit, Michael thought, panicking. Of all the people to actually believe it… What would they do to him? He glanced around at their possibilities, but saw nothing of any use. They just died, over and over again.

  Wayne’s expression soured. "Talk, kid," he said. "Or else." All around him, weapons powered on with a shrill whine.

  Shitshitshitshit—!

  Michael’s brain was scrabbling around so frantically for a plausible lie that he accidentally spat out the truth. "Yes."

  Well, that’s it. Good work, idiot.

  Wayne leaned forward. "You a, uh, Extrahuman? One of those?"

  "I guess," Michael said nervously.

  "Extrahumans are slaves," Joe had said. "We’re just people with gifts. Don’t ever say you’re one of them."

  But there was nothing else to say.

  "So you see the future, huh?" Wayne was saying. "Can you see what’s going to happen, say, tomorrow?"

  Parker snorted. He didn’t seem to buy any of it. Wayne shot him a dirty look, then turned back to Michael.

  "Well, kid? Can you tell me what’s going to happen tomorrow?"

  "It—it doesn’t work that way," Michael said. He seemed to be saying that a lot. "I, uh, can only see what’s going to happen to individuals. And I have to be looking at them. It, uh, comes in flashes. Little bits and pieces. I don’t see everything. I don’t control what I see." He laughed nervously. "It’s really useless! I couldn’t see this coming, could I?"

  "So you never saw us coming at all?" Wayne said, frowning.

  "I knew you were a possibility," Michael said. "But that’s all I see, just possibilities. What I see might not happen, it’s just, um, possible."

  "I see," Wayne said.

  "Useless, right?" Michael said. He could feel himself shaking.

  "So," Wayne said, licking his lips, "What ‘possibilities’ do you see for me?" He spread out his arms. "What’s going to happen to me?"

  Michael looked directly into the young man’s deep green eyes.

  —Wayne leveled his gun at the oncoming government soldiers—

  "I see you fighting. It looks like a desert—"

  —But the soldiers fired first. Wayne fell, cursing them. They ran up to him to finish him off. "Son of a bitch," said one before he blew Wayne’s head off.

  Michael hesitated.

  "And?" Wayne said.

  "Um. They killed you. Government troops. One called you a son of a bitch." Wayne looked unimpressed. "Sorry, that’s all I’m—"

  —There was a room full of men. It was this room, but at night, and full. Wayne was speaking. "We need to go to Australia, right now! If we wait, it’ll be too late!"

  "You’re insane," said a lean black man. "I 'm not going."

  "Then stay, coward!" Wayne yelled, jumping onto the table. "I’m going to fight for freedom." Dead silence followed. Someone snickered.

  "Oh," Michael said.

  "What?"

  "You were trying to get a bunch of men to go to Australia. One of them wasn’t listening to you."

  Wayne focused his intense gaze on Michael again. "Where were we?" he asked. Everyone in the room held his breath.

  "Right here," said Michael. "In this room."

  "A fucking spy," Parker said.

  "No way," Banner said. "We didn’t even know it was gonna happen here 'til just an hour ago."

  "Shut up!" snapped Wayne. "You see that in your head?" he asked Michael.

  "Yes," Michael said.

  Wayne sat back and nodded. "Just so happens that there’s going to be a big gathering of all the resistance groups in the area here tomorrow. We’re going to be talking about that very subject."

  "I suggest you listen to them, then," Michael said. "Because I see nothing but death for all of you if you go to Australia."

  "Maybe you’ll come with us," Wayne said, grinning nastily. "’Cause we’re going anyway." The men shifted uneasily. Wayne glared at them, and they stood still again.

  Michael swallowed hard. Me and my big mouth.

  * * *

  Wayne kept Michael near him for the rest of the day, and forced him to describe, in graphic detail, how each man in the room might die. The room emptied out quickly.

  "So, you Union?" asked Wayne at one point. Michael shook his head. "That’s illegal, you know. All the animals oughta be in the zoo, right?"

  Michael fought down his anger. This man was the type to use him for target practice without a moment’s hesitation. "It’s illegal to own your own weapons, too, isn’t it?"

  "Who says we own these?" Wayne said, grinning wickedly. "They don’t belong to us. They’re the Confederation’s!" He cackled madly.

  Figures. Michael looked away, saying nothing.

  "Hey, that woman downstairs, she your girlfriend?" Wayne asked, leering at him.

  "No," Michael said shortly. "She’s not."

  "Baby hers? Or yours?"

  "Neither. Belonged to someone who died."

  "Uh-huh." Wayne obviously didn’t care about that. "You got a girl, then, kid?"

  "No."

  "A boy, then? You a pigsticker?" Wayne laughed again.

  Pigsticker? "No," Michael said. "I don’t. And I’m not."

  "So what
are you running from, Mike? Confeds want you?"

  "Something like that."

  "Can’t think it’s about not being in the Union. Reformists don’t like the Union. Did you know that, Mike?"

  "Yes."

  "Ain’t it the truth. Mike, you ever say the Pledge of Allegiance?" Michael shook his head. Wayne sprang out of his chair and stood ramrod straight, hand over his heart, facing the forbidden flag. "Well, this is the way it goes. ‘I pledge allegiance to the President of the United States of America, and to the flag of the republic for which it stands. May God Bless America.’ Now you say it."

  Michael stood, faced the flag, placed his hand over his heart and stumbled through the pledge, garbling the words as he went. Wayne yelled at him. "You can’t get it! You can’t get it! What kind of American are you! Now say it again, 'til you get it right!"

  So Michael did, trembling, repeating the words while Wayne trained his rifle on him. He made it through with no mistakes the second time.

  "Good going," Wayne said, satisfied. He sat down. "Now say it twenty times, so you really know it by heart. It’s a sacred oath."

  Michael said the words over again, and messed up on the third run through. Wayne sprang out of chair again and pressed the muzzle of his gun against Michael’s temple. "Start over, traitor!" he hissed. His breath reeked of beer. "Start all over again!"

  Michael’s heart skipped a beat.

  Not here. Not now. Not now… Michael gathered his memory together and exhaled. He could see the words of the pledge in his mind.

  Michael slowly recited the pledge again, then again, then again and again, flawlessly each time.

  "Good," Wayne said after the twentieth repetition. "Not too bad. But you fucked up, so I’m gonna have to ask you to stand right there. Don’t move." He trained the gun on him. "Don’t move a damn inch."

  [CHAPTER 19]

  Wayne let him go back downstairs as night began to fall. "Hey, remember, you need to be up early tomorrow for the big meeting, so no staying up too late," he said jovially, as he shoved Michael into the small room with Monica. "You two have a nice night together, though!" They could hear him cackling as he clattered back up the stairs.

  Monica’s eyes went wide when she saw Michael. "Oh, God, are you all right?" She cupped his face in her hands. "What happened? He didn’t hit you, did he?"

  "I’m okay," Michael said. "I think." He collapsed on the cot, which Monica quickly vacated. "He didn’t hit me. He almost shot me." To the surprise of both of them, he started to cry, tears running down his cheeks as hard sobs racked his body

  "Michael?" Monica said, panicking. "Michael, what happened? Michael!"

  "I—I saw him shoot me once, when I was nine," Michael gasped. "I saw a moment. I just lived through it. I don’t know how. If I had missed one word—I saw it. I saw it." Tears rolled down his cheeks. "God, I don’t want to die."

  "It’s okay, you’re still alive," Monica said softly. "You’re still here." He found himself in her embrace. They clung to each other like that, Monica holding him and rocking back and forth with him, until Ian woke up and demanded attention.

  * * *

  They listened to the sounds of Wayne and his pals drinking and laughing above them that night. Ian wailed constantly.

  "Hey," Monica wondered. "You think he’s teething?"

  "Could be. He need a diaper change?"

  "Yeah. Can you get Banner?"

  Michael pounded on the door. No one answered. "Great. He’s probably upstairs partying," he said.

  Monica shook her head. "Some ‘army’ this is. They better hope they never face a real one."

  "They will," Michael said grimly. "Confeds and Black Bands."

  "You saw?" He nodded. "When?"

  "Don’t know. But soon, probably. They all get killed."

  "Oh." She was silent for a moment. "That’s too bad. I kind of liked Banner."

  "Yeah, he’s not so bad," Michael said. "But Wayne… I don’t think the world will miss him much."

  "Yeah," Monica growled, a spark of anger igniting in her. "Son of a bitch."

  Ian cried louder. For a moment, Michael envied him; they were all hungry and tired, but Ian was the only one who could freely express it. He and Monica had to try to hold together, to control what little they could.

  “Hey,” Michael said. “Sorry about earlier. I was just frustrated. I shouldn't have taken it out on you.”

  “It's okay,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “It happens.”

  It occurred to Michael that he barely knew Monica at all. He'd fix that, if they ever got out of here.

  * * *

  Finally, the party upstairs ebbed, and Banner thundered down to the basement. He opened the door.

  "Oh!" he said. "Damn, I forgot. Uh. You two want food? Pee?"

  "Both would be nice," Michael said. "She can go first."

  "I’ll take Ian," she said, hoisting him onto her shoulder.

  "Hey," Banner said softly. "Sorry about Wayne. He’s a good guy, really. He just gets a little nuts every now and then."

  "Every now and then...? Come on," Monica snarled. "You’re all crazy all the time!" Banner looked down, dejected.

  "Hey, I believe you," Michael said quickly. "We all go a little crazy sometimes. I bet you do too, right, Banner?"

  Banner nodded. "Banner isn’t my real name. When we joined up, we all had to take the names of heroes from American history. My real name is Steve."

  "Good to know ya, Steve," Michael said. They nodded at one another warily.

  "Come on, miss," Banner said to Monica. "You know where it is."

  * * *

  The next morning, Wayne woke Michael up early so he could be in the room when everyone came in to the conference. "Can you tell me if they’re going to want to go to Australia?" he asked Michael. "If they’ll vote yes or no?"

  "I’ll try," Michael said. "I don’t guarantee anything. All I see are possibilities."

  "Don’t fuck up," Wayne warned.

  Michael took up his station on the far side of the room, opposite the door. He heard the roar of combustion engines outside. The first of the “delegates” had arrived.

  The first to enter were two graying, withered men who wore old uniforms from the real U.S. Army, which had been disbanded after the Last War. They had a hard, cruel look about them. Wayne sprang to his feet when they entered.

  "Sarge, good to see you," he said to the shorter one, the leader. "How you doing?"

  The man scowled at Wayne. "Hello, Anderson. That uniform isn’t regulation."

  "Sorry, Sarge," Wayne said, with a grin and a shrug. "Regulation uniforms are hard to find these days."

  Sarge nodded and sat with his compatriot far away from Wayne, conversing in low tones.

  Michael barely needed to use his talent. Their decision was plain on their faces. They’d never do what Wayne wanted. He tried to catch Wayne’s eye, but the “Colonel” wasn’t looking at him.

  The next delegates came in. They were three women in light blue outfits, not quite uniforms, but chosen carefully to give that impression anyway.

  "Who let these scum in?" Sarge growled.

  "Hey, ladies, don’t mind Sarge there," Wayne said.

  "I don’t like being in the same room with you, either, Brezhinsky," one of the women snapped. Michael glanced at their eyes.

  —"We’ll go," the woman said. "Time to get some of our own back."

  —The desert. "Let them kill themselves," one woman said to the other. "Let’s get out of here."

  Wayne looked at him. Well, he wanted to know the vote, right? Why tell him the rest? Michael nodded. Wayne grinned.

  Finally, a group of six dark-skinned men and one grey-haired, bedraggled white woman, all dressed in black from hats to boots, sauntered in, laughing and joking with one another. "Eey, Wayne!" called a green-haired man. "Nice place!"

  "Well, well," Sarge taunted. "It’s the Nigger Army."

  "Fuck you, old man," snarled Green Hair.

&
nbsp; "Come on, gentlemen, no fighting in here," Wayne said nervously, clearly unaccustomed to keeping the peace. But both sides took their seats.

  Wayne looked at Michael. He glanced over at the group.

  —"Hell with it," said one. "We’re not going."

  —Another walked through a strange jungle. The sky was a deep green.

  —The third drove down a highway in a mag-van. Police were behind him.

  —The fourth was having hot sex with the third.

  —The fifth was sitting on his bed, reading a magazine. He missed the old days.

  —The sixth sat in prison, wondering if anyone would ever come for him

  —The last flew through the skies of Valen.

  "Broken," he whispered. She glanced at him and smiled, giving him a little wave. What was she doing here? She seemed very pleased with herself.

  He looked back at Wayne and shook his head no. Wayne’s brows creased.

  "Let’s get started, then," he said.

  The introductions took some time. It turned out that the old men in U.S. Army uniforms simply called themselves "The Corps," and were a hardcore separatist group. The women were militant supporters of the UNP, recently driven into the murky grasp of the underground. The men Broken was with were called the "North Jersey Anarchist Force" and seemed to be pretty easygoing, for anarchist revolutionaries. It was a bizarre mix.

  Wayne started talking. "Friends, the time for action has come."

  A few grumbled, but most paid attention as Wayne rose and paced around the room. His eyes were bright as he spoke. Michael wanted to shrink back from his sheer intensity, but dared not move.

  "Comrades-in-arms, we have a purpose that we need to fulfill. We all know the crimes the government has committed on our beloved country. And now the government is fighting itself—"

  The old man called Sarge stood. "I’m gonna talk," he growled. Wayne stopped mid-sentence, and sheepishly sat down, cowed by the grizzled soldier. "All right. This used to be a great country. America. That flag up there meant a lot of things to a lot of people. But the illegal 'United Nation' government has sullied what it once stood for!" He marched over to the three UNP women, who stared defiantly back at him. "Thanks to the Confederation, this is now one of the poorest, most backward places on the planet. Ever been to Australia? I have. The people there live lives of luxury, surrounded by shining technology. They refuse to share it! Dune Coons in Arab-Land get better junk than we do!"