smokeSCREEN: bookONE

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"Us?" I ask. She lights herself a cigarette, before walking to the window and sitting, looking out over the early morning.

"Our floor. I mean, me and a few others saw it with our eyes, but no one believed us." I pick up the cigarettes and lighter and sit by the window, ten or so feet from her.

"What's a 'floor'?" I ask, lighting a smoke.

"When we first found the Tower, after we got out of the bunker? We divided up into floors – five girls a floor, we covered the first thirteen or so. One or two Alphas to a floor, they each had one or two Betas and Cetas beneath them. When we go out on patrols or guard duty or something, we do it with our floors."

"We don't have something like that," I say. "It's every man for himself." She smiles at me.

"I'm surprised you guys survived this long, living like that."

"I don't think we will survive," I say. "Soon the food's gonna' run out. It would be different if we were planting crops or something, but there's not enough infrastructure with good soil nearby.

What's this River Project?" She dips her face into her hands.

"You can read… that's unbelievable. It's like a gift from God."

"No one here can read?"

"Jackie, Phoebe's older sister, she could read. She used to lead us. She read all the time, but wouldn't let anyone else. We weren't allowed near the library. Five years ago, when we were first starting the River Project, Jackie drowned and Phoebe took over."

"And by that time, the rest of you had forgotten how to read, so you didn't know how to finish the Project." She nods.

"If things keep up this way, we won't be able to stay in the city – we'll have to migrate south and hope for the best." She pauses, listening, then stands and heads for the door. "I'll have Anze bring some food." The door bursts opens, seemingly of its own volition.

A Japanese third stares at Michelle accusingly.

"What were you doing?" she demands.

"Trying to see what he'd tell us about their defenses," Michelle says, pushing past the other woman.

"And…?"

Michelle turns and brings up her eyes to meet mine. For a moment, there is something… something gently pushing at me as it pulls me in.

"Nothing," Michelle says. The door slams shut.

I look to my feet at the pack of cigarettes and lighter.

"Thank you," I say to the empty room.

* * *

* * *

now feel the trance of this goddes / vicious vibrations / lap dances/ venemous serpents of temptation / awkward balance / scars on my back from her talons / an evil evening / drinking blood by the gallons // drenched

* * *
* * *

A half an hour later, a key hits the lock and the door slowly creaks open. Cat enters, an old piece of paper in her hand.

Her hair has been tied back in a loose ponytail, but some of her hair, clumped with dirt, hangs in her face. She doesn't look at me – she locks the door behind her and sets the paper on the table.

I'm nervous – I don't know why, but I am – and I light a cigarette. She stares off in the distance, seeming troubled, before finally turning to me and leaning against the table.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she says. "But I watched for you."

"Me too," I say.

"I have to ask you something and I really need you to answer me." I nod.

"I'll try."

"Why?" I still haven't thought up a good reason for it. I don't know what to tell her.

"Who's the young girl with green hair?"

"Anze, we found her in the ruins – answer me."

"What if I don't know."

"You have to."

"Why?"

"Because it wasn't natural!" she cries. "You should have killed me! It's what you do! Now nothing's right, everything's fucked up. No one knows what to think, and…"

"Well… I'm sorry."

"Just… shut up." She steps forward and pulls off her right glove. I start.

"Wait, what…?"

"Shut up!" she says as she comes closer, her hand outstretched towards me. I throw my cigarette aside and start pushing back, away from her, but she darts forward and nearly grazes my cheek. I cry out and throw her aside. She tumbles across the carpet and slams into the door.

"Fucking bitch!" I bark at her. "Why would you do that?!" She's crying, her hair blocking her face. "Are you insane!" I'm shouting. "You fucking…!"

"It's not normal," she's whispering. "It's not normal… what do you feel?"

"What?"

"What do you feel?"

"Pissed. Off."

"Cypress…" I take three quick strides, grab her by her collar and heave her to her feet.

"Don't. Do that," I say. "I didn't let you live just so you could kill me!" She nods, wiping her eyes. I walk over to the desk and snatch up the paper, giving it a quick scan.

It's a child's nursery rhyme, leathery with time and stained.

"What do I do with this?" I say. When I turn back, she's gone.

The lock clicks into place.

* * *

A short time later the green-haired girl arrives, carrying a backpack. She doesn't look at me – she enters, closes and locks the door. The leather backpack slides from her small shoulders and she digs through it. She realizes she's forgotten something, and finally darts those huge green eyes up to mine.

"Sorry," she says.

And then she leaves.

Ten minutes and a half a cigarette later, she comes in with the identical backpack. She doesn't look at me – she enters, closes and locks the door. The leather backpack is quickly jerked from her slender shoulders, and she nervously draws out a can and a can opener.

There is no lable on the can, but as she opens it I can smell sweet pear juice. She sets the open can on the floor, placing the can opener and lid back in her pack before drawing out a pad of paper and a pen.

"Is this okay?" she asks. I pick up the can of pears and walk back to the windows.

"You going to take my statement?" I ask. She sits at the door and stares intently at me.

"Your picture," she says. "I want to… I want to draw you." This is not the answer I expected. There's no room for creativity any more – it's all about survival now.

"When do you find time to draw?" I ask, stuffing a pear slice into my mouth.

"They don't let me do anything," she says. "Michelle found me when I was almost five – I was living in a supermarket in the North End. Phoebe doesn't let me do anything 'cause she doesn't trust me." Already, the pen in her hand is moving confidently over the page in front of her. She's barely looking at it – she's looking at me. But I don't get the sense that she's focused on me – as if whatever she's drawing is in abstract.

"You talk a lot," I tell her. Now she looks stunned.

"I'm sorry," she says, standing and packing up her things. "Please don't tell anyone… I'm sorry."

And then Anze leaves.

I eat half the peaches and leave the can in the desk for later – who knows how long I'll be staying.

* * *

An hour later, Michelle shows up.

"What news from the front?" I ask, managing a fake smile. She doesn't smile back – she doesn't say anything.

The leash hits the floor at my feet and she looks away, wiping her face.

* * *

The crowd is much smaller – fifteen or twenty women – most likely all Thirds. Cat's not around, and something tells me Anze's cowering in a corner somewhere.

Michelle leads me up to Phoebe's purple couch and lets a length of the leash out, stepping off to the side with the others. They all just stare at me. Perhaps I have a bit of a death wish, but I'm not a patient man at things like this.

With bound wrists, I draw a cigarette out of my pocket and light it. Phoebe balks.

"Where did you get that?"

"What's my fate?" I ask.

"Death."

I shrug and turn to Michelle.

"Let's go."

"He can read it!" Michelle says.

"It's no matter – he attacked Cat."

"Wait – I what?"

"Cat came to me in confidence and revealed that you attacked her when she went to bring you food – that's why I had to send poor Anze. I sort of hoped you'd finished the runt off."

I nod. That makes sense – sort of. Why the fuck had she tried to touch me in the first place?

"Yes, I attacked Cat, when she came at me with her glove off. She tried to touch me."

"Why would she do that? That would kill her."

"Fuck off – she was trying to kill me!" I bark. Murmers of surprise ripple through the small crowd. "You know what you chicks know about me? Shit! You know what I know about you? Nothin'! For all I know, for what I've seen, you're just like the fuckin' stereotypes. You're too emotional! You do things seemingly at random and for no reason whatsoever! And, yes, if you end up killing me you will be the bloodthirsty bitches Jessie's been telling me about my whole life.

You people are insane."

That shuts them up.

"Cat attacked you first,' Phoebe says. I nod. "Michelle, you've spoken with him and you know Cat, what do you think?"

For a moment, I feel a bit sorry that Michelle's been placed on the spot. I keep my eyes on Phoebe and smoke my cigarette. Michelle seems to consider what to say for a long time.

"Let's hear him read it," she says. "Cat's been acting strange lately, so it's possible. If there's a chance he can really read… I'll vouch for him to stay."

"Well – let's see the paper."

"The one I'm supposed to read?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Star light, star bright, first star I've seen tonight?"

Phoebe sits back.

"I didn't believe he could do it until just now."

That convinced her?

"Alright! He can read, Michelle will take responsibility for him – if he stays – vote! Who votes we kill him?"

Three hands.

"…who votes he lives?"

The rest. Even Phoebe.

"Settled – Michelle, give him back his staff and telescope – locker three-eighteen – he'll pull duty with Floor Thirteen until I've got some things together – lock him up at night. Everyone get your floors back here for the general meeting in twenty minutes."

And with that, Michelle drags me back to the stairwell.

Suddenly, she's speaking freely with me.

"I thought you were dead – I thought that would be it after Cat denounced you."

"She attacked me first."

We don't go up – we go down – down three flights into a sub basement. There she gets a key from a single guard, and we open the locker marked 318.

She pulls my utility belt, staff and telescope from the locker and hands them to me.

I could kill her right now. We're even far enough away the guard wouldn't hear.

"I won't tell anyone if you won't," she says.

"What?"

"Your blade," she motions towards the staff. "No need to tell anyone about it – right?"

"It's not mine," I tell her as she closes the locker.

"You'll find things are alright here, for the time being. Once we get the River Plan working, we'll be able to stay and live comfortably."

"I prefer the company of people who aren't lethal to the touch."

"What?" she looks at me.

"Lethal – deadly."

"Oh. I'll try to get scouting for Broadway and The Forks – maybe we can swing by the Library."

"Michelle, I appreciate your help, but I'm leaving now."

"No you're not." It's as if the thought hadn't occurred to her. She's stunned. "No – you have to stay. We'll all die if you don't."

"I'll die if I do."

Michelle closes the locker and stares at me, her brow furrowed.

"Cat's always thought more with her heart than her head, Cypress. She's confused because you changed the rules. Everything that used to be, isn't any more. Everything they told us about you. You are the answer to your own problem – don't you see that?"

No – I don't. The more time I spend around them, the more I realize women are insane.

"No, I don't."

"Cypress… Phoebe and Jackie told us for years that all boys would do is kill us. All they wanted to do was kill us. But you didn't. So what else might be a lie?"

I still don't understand.

"It's what Cat was trying to show you – it's not true."

"What's not true?"

Before I even see it being rased, her bare hand is at my cheek – her few inches of pale skin hot against mine – and she's pressing me against a locker.

In my panic, at first none of it's real – none of it is happening – but my senses cool and it's as if waking after a long sleep. I feel as if a hand may or may not be on my face. Then I see it – then I see her eyes – those huge brown eyes inches from mine. I feel no pain, nothing. Even the panic is ebbing – she doesn't look afraid.

"You see?" she whispers. My brow furrows, and I become conscious that my jaw has been slack for some time. I close my mouth and raise a hand. She doesn't shy from my touch – my fingertips stroke her forehead – then her cheeks – her jaw and throat.

The touch does not feel unpleasant. There is no burning. I don't feel sick or even malnourished. Nothing is happening, aside from a quickening in my heart.

Her breathing is quicker now, and her other hand finds my throat – just stroking the bare skin – I gasp. It's all so impossible. Everything we'd ever known. This is not death. I stroke her hair – it is softer than it looks.

She lets one of her hands grip mine and examines my fingers. We both stumble to the floor of the locker room and sit, leaning against each other, caressing hands.

"Have you…?"

"No," she says. "But I feel…" She looks up at me and we stare at each other for a moment – hands still gently stroking our faces. Her eyes are welling up – shiny. "I feel so much…" she says. "I feel…"

My hands run through heir hair, and her nose strokes from my lip to my cheek, our faces pressed together as we both gasp for breath.

"Oh!" she yelps and pushes back, pushes away into the locker on the other side of the iasle. "What if this is it? What if this is how it feels – the disease?"

I can't say I completely disagree with her reasoning. I'd never felt anything like it. I stand, and hold out an arm for her. She grips it above the wrist and I pull her up.

"We don't tell anyone," I say. "We keep a low profile, and if it is the disease, we'll be dead in a day – but there's no reason to tell anyone."

She stoops to pick up the staff, and stands up. She's tall – her eyes are level with mine. Just for a moment. Just for a moment, we're so close, I can feel the heat from the body.

Just for a moment, she nearly closes her eyes.

"If it's too late anyway," she says, quickly stroking her cheek against mine. An electric current runs through me at the sudden contact.

"Michelle!" someone calls. We both jump.

"Coming!" she barks, shoving my backpack into my hands and dragging me away.

As she pulls me up the stairs, I am sure to hold the pack just below my belt buckle.

* * *

We're six minutes late to the general meeting, and are asked to stay outside for most of the briefing regardless. So long as I'm part of Michelle's floor, no one on that floor will be privy to strategies against Westwood.

The seven of us sit outside the lobby, waiting for the others to get through the general meeting before Phoebe gives the 13th Floor the assignment she's got picked out for us.

For the most part, we sit in silence. Anze sits between Michelle and I, staring eagerly over at me. Cat sits silently on the other side of Michelle, along with a… Beta, I think is the word, named Crow. Crow's a cruel-looking young thing with jet-black hair and eyes that seem to be constantly getting colder. Her hair hangs in sharp spikes against her pale jawline, and a slender gloved hand permanently grips a sawed off double-barrel shotgun.

Fifteen feet to my left sits Lisa, the athletic-looking blond who had wanted to much to shoot me at the train yards. Lisa's hair is more yellow than Cat's, and she has a high power rifle strapped to her back. Next to her is Sophia, a brunette in a touque and layers of baggy clothing, who does not betray a single emotion as she stares patiently forward.

Michelle made uncomfortable introductions after we came up from the basement, and intentionally sat between Cat and I, positioning Anze to my right.

After twenty minutes or so the others leave the main lobby and Phoebe's Ceta calls us in. We stand, a band a parte, before her royal purple couch as she smiles at us.

"Who wants to go walking today?" Phoebe asks.

"Where?" Lisa says.

"The south end," Phoebe smiles sweetly back.

"It's still crawling with the dogs," Michelle says. "No one's going into the south end."

Dogs of all creed – it's true. They hunt in the grasslands and live in the old high-priced houses. There are choice items in the south end, but you have to deal with packs of dogs sometimes thirty strong.

"You are," Phoebe says.

"What are we looking for?" I ask.

"Scout the area, assess if there's still danger, find a scooter," she says.

"What, like a motor scooter?"

"No, just a scooter."

"Why?"

"Because I want one. Shoo now – I'll expect all of you back by morning." No one responds. Even Michelle can't believe her. Anze begins to head off towards the basement as the rest of us head for the main doors.

"Michelle – Lisa?" Phoebe calls again. We stop, and the Alphas turn back to her. "Keep an eye on him - Rule Three."

Michelle nods. Lisa steps forward, spitting words at Phoebe.

"You can't Rule Three him – we can't trust him!"

"Rule Three – happy hunting."

* * *

The Sun isn't offensively hot as we move south, but I haven't slept in two days, and my feet are heavy. The other guards and patrols give Michelle and Lisa a pitying look as we pass by. I'm walking ahead of everyone – Lisa plans to shoot me if I try to run. Crow and Sophia take up the rear, with Cat behind Lisa and Michelle.

Michelle and Lisa are arguing over me.

"I'm not disputing the potential, I'm saying it's not worth the trouble – we could be killed, and for what?"

I light a smoke. Michelle speaks easily, calmly – the voice of reason.

"As long as he proves loyal, Phoebe will come around."

"He won't prove loyal. I'm just glad he doesn't have a gun – he may try to kill us all, you know."

The staff strikes the pavement in an easy rhythm.

"When will you stop listening to everything Phoebe has to say?" Michelle asks. We're crossing the Osbourne Bridge – the regularly patrolled territory disappears slowly behind us. I'm so fucking tired.

I'm scanning the area for means of escape. The good intentions of Michelle won't protect me for long– it will be best just to head back to Westwood and report on everything I've seen – I may even get promoted back to Spy.

"We should Rule Three him right now," Lisa says. I'm so fucking tired, but I prick my ears at this. "Pick up the body on the way back," she says. I can hear Lisa pulling her rifle from her shoulder.

"What's Rule Three?" I casually ask over my shoulder. Michelle's eyes dart to mine before looking away.

"It's nothing," she says. "Just an old rule – eyes up." I turn back to the road ahead. Michelle whispers something harsh to Lisa, but I can't make it out. Suddenly, Lisa speaks clearly to me;

"Rule Three means that if you don't come back with us, dead or alive, one of us will be killed at random." My brow furrows – she's lying. I look to Michelle. "Hold!" Lisa calls. The party comes to a halt. "Alright, I say we kill him," she says. "He's too big of a risk to us as a Floor."

"You couldn't," Cat says softly. Lisa raises an eyebrow and looks to me.

"I don't see why not-" she raises a pistol towards my head but for a moment is blinded by the early Sun. After she finishes her blink, she finds the the pistol coming apart in her hands. Split diagonally from the trigger guard to the hammer, the barrel slips from the stock and hits the pavement.

I slip the sword back into the staff and lean on it as she gets her bearings.

"Don't do that," I tell her softly.

"What…?" Even Michelle's a little surprised.

"I told you how fast he is," Cat says now, moving towards me.