smokeSCREEN: bookTHREE

* * *

in the time of chimpanzees, I was a monkey / butane in my veins I'm out to cut the junkie / with the plastic eyeballs, spraypaint the vegetables / dog food stalls, with the beefcake pantyhose / kill the headlights and put it in neutral / stock car flaming with a loser in the cruise control / baby's in Reno with a vitamin d / got a couple of couches, asleep on the love seat

* * *

* * *

The power runs on sunlight. Cypress told us that he wasn't used to using power indiscriminately like we do. But I prefer it dark. That's why I like guard duty. I can sit out under the stars for hours. It's just me and the sky. And strange as it sounds, I feel like I finally belong somewhere. All alone, under the stars. I fit.

I'm a soldier, first. So while the others are flipping through magazines or playing board games, I'm up at my perch. I call it my perch because this was my post. Sitting up here, on top of the roof access. For the first six years or so I sat up here alone, a pair of binoculars and a high-power rifle in my hands, peering out into the dark for signs of Men.

The wind is gentle tonight, and it's too hot out to keep my shirt on. I unclip the seven chunky black claspes and the white doublethick cotton slides off my shoulders, so I'm wearing only my tattered black knit sweater. Its ragged edges only come to the base of my ribcage, but that's too warm as well, and I pull it up to below my breasts.

I kick off my boots – and my belt – I consider removing my skirt, but I remind myself;

I am a soldier, first.

But I pull it up a few inches and let the cool wind air my thighs. I lay back on the mattress I always drag up here in the summers and let the breeze caress me, closing my eyes and thinking of his.

But he casts those eyes to Michelle as easily as he does me.

All the things I lack are present in Michelle. She is a natural leader. She is calm. Practical. Self-sacrificing And she has the good of us all at heart.

Things I'll never be.

I spent my first thirteen years almost entirely in solitary. Your priorities are based on your situation.

I sit up and hold the binoculars to my eyes, scanning the west for movement. Nothing. I grab my belt and remove a cigarette, lighting it before falling back down on the mattress.

The roof access door moans open beneath me, and I quickly shrug into my cotton shirt.

"Any movement?"

"Long time no see, stranger. How're the fans working?"

"It's no good when they're all blowing hot air back at you. You got any more of those?"

"C'mon up, I'll give you one."

"Cool."

He jumps onto the iron ladder and quickly lands beside me, dropping to his knees and crossing his legs as he sits.

As promised, I produce a smoke for him and he lights it, smiling contently at the dark city. Even though it's pitch dark, I swear I can still make out the blue.

"Why do you come up here?" he asks.

I tell him. This was my home. Is my home, maybe.

"I spent more time with these stars than anyone in this tower," I tell him. "I earned my name up here."

"How's that?"

"We call this the Crow's Nest."

"Huh. Y'know, I never thought of that." I shrug and lay back to stare up at the stars.

"Don't know why not – it's pretty obvious."

"We got he night off," he says. "Why are you pulling guard duty?"

"I'm not. I just come here some nights."

"Then why the binoculars and rifle?"

"I just come here, but I might as well do a job while I'm at it." It takes him a second to think of what to say to that.

"We're moving up the River Project," he says. "Start scavanging next week."

Cypress has spent almost every day for the past two weeks locked in the security room with Phoebe. He hasn't spoken a word about any progress they're making, except to Michelle and Lisa. He takes his orders as a Tower member seriously.

Which is why I'm suspicious he just brings it up.

"That's good," I say. "Why do you mention it?"

"Do you want to know about it?" he asks. "I don't want you to tell anyone, but there's some stuff I want you to know."

"Like what?" He pauses and takes a long drag before continuing.

"It looks like we won't be going straight south to the river. Going south and east – all the way to the Forks."

"What? The Forks is like, three times as far. That's stupid, it-"

"It's got the infrastructure that can handle this kind of power transfer, and two rivers right there."

"Oh… okay." He pauses a long while before speaking again. I can tell he's fighting telling me.

"It was always planned that if Westwood went down, we would recolate to the Forks temporarily. We've always got someone on a long-term post there, who's to return immediately if there's any unusual girl activity. Inside the Forks buildings we've got stores of food, weapons, ammo, everything.

As soon as the Tower starts moving people in there to set things up, Westwood will know."

"What if we block off his exits?" I ask quickly. My mind goes into tactical mode. Cypress only shakes his head.

"When the guards change post, they travel silently through a known run on foot. But if there's ever something important to report, they're allowed to use a Dukati motorbike we have stored out there for emergies, and they're all trained for it.

That thing hits two hundred klicks easy. Nothing's gonna' catch it." I nod.

"This destroys everything," I say. He doesn't answer, he just taps his cigarette and looks up at the stars. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Do you know what it's like," he says, "to know you have a duty to your job, to be a soldier for the Tower, but you knew it was just wrong? And by serving the Tower, you betrayed a higher authority?"

I think about that for a while.

"No," I say. "Not yet." He sighs.

"Yeah, I didn't think so," he says.

"So what's bugging you, then?" I ask. He holds out his hand and I stick another cigarette in it, and he chains it off the first before continuing.

"Well… if that guard never saw us coming. If he was… neutralized before he was able to get to that bike…"

"But that would be near-impossible, because no one here knows the patterns of someone guarding the Forks. Those guards probably know the Forks better than anyone."

Cypress nods.

"Unless… someone here does know how to take out that guard," I say.

Cypress nods.

"And there's no way you would tell me this, unless I was going to be in the first wave."

Cypress nods.

"How many?"

"Two floors," he says. "Thirteen and half of Six. You'll have three snipers."

"It shouldn't be a problem, then," I say. But he shakes his head.

"You guys won't be out there for a few days – you're going to be stationed for a little under a month as security while we move in some equipment."

"So…?"

"So, let's say you do take the watchman out no problem."

"'kay."

"That a watchman has a shift, based on the moon. If you go out on a full moon, you come back when it's gone. If you go out on an empty moon, you leave when it's full. When that watchman doesn't come back on the full moon, Westwood's gonna' know something's up. They'll send more."

"Ah. How many?" He shrugs and taps his smoke.

"We never had a plan for that – it'll be up to Jessie."

"So what's your moral dilemma?" I ask.

"Phoebe wants details about Westwood security. Guard patterns, weaknesses. Shit like that."

"So?"

"So I don't have a problem helping out the Tower, but I'm not happy betraying my own."

It takes a long time for him to realize that was, perhaps, the wrong thing to say. Finally, his brow furrows and he says, "I'm here – I'm with you guys – but that doesn't mean I can break vows made previous."

I just look out over the city. I'm boiling up.

"So you keep your promises," I say. He nods. But I stand and pull on my boots. "And what about promises made to me?" I ask.

"What?"

I shrug into my cotton shirt and clip on my belt.

"That night – that night at the safehouse. You…"

"I never promised you anything."

"That kiss was a promise," I tell him with narrowed eyes.

"Of what?" I jump from the roof access and land on the roof, opening the door to the stairs.

"Of something more than this," I call up as I slam the door behind me. I'm welling up as I descend to Fourteen, but I can hear the door open and slam behind me. For a moment, I'm sure I'm too far ahead for him to catch me, but he lands easily on the landing in front of me from somewhere above. His hand is raised to stop me, and he catches his breath before saying.

"Explain," he says.

"Explain what?"

"What you're feeling."

"Feelings? Feelings?" I nod. "That's what I want. I want some feelings. I want something to come out of you that isn't about…

…do you have feelings?" I ask. I press my hand to his cheek. "How does this feel?" He bats my hand away.

"Cut it out," he says. I stop, and regard him with a confused scrutiny.

"It's Michelle, isn't it?"

"It's no one."

"Sophie."

"No."

"Did you move up the ladder? Is it Phoebe?"

"No."

"Then why isn't it me?"

He just stares.

"You saw Cat," I say. "You saved Cat. You met us all, then you picked me. You came into that room. And now, it's like you're not even part of the Floor anymore, Cypress! You're downstairs with Phoebe every fuckin' day doing God knows what, and no one has any idea what's going on, if you're like fucking her or what-"

"Crow!" he barks. Perhaps I was rambling a touch.

"Yes."

"All that shit's over with." He counts on his fingers. "Michelle, Lisa, Sophie, Cat, everyone gets it – stuff like that isn't a good idea – they don't want to, and-"

"Of course they want to!" I tell him. "Sophie goes on for hours about that kiss two weeks ago. Sure, Lisa and Michelle don't say anything, they gotta' be strong. But they look at you, Cypress. They all do. We all want to again. No one thinks you do. Not like we ever get a chance to see you anymore anyway, but-"

"I'm doing important stuff for the Tower."

"Fuck the Tower – your Floor is what's important. Don't you miss us?"

"Yes."

"You miss Michelle?"

"Well, yeah."

"Miss me?" He gazes calmly at me – his expression blank.

"You don't get it," he says. "I am here because of the Floor. I am here because of you. I am a soldier of the Tower, and I will do what Phoebe says. If that means I have to spend nine hours a day downstairs with her so I can be with you guys for an hour every night, so be it." My eyes narrow.

"Well then, solider, I suggest you stick to your loyalties and tell Phoebe about Westwood's weaknesses. The best way to defend your floor is with a good offence – and Westwood's time has come."

I push past him and down the stairs. He doesn't follow.

I don't look back, but I can hear him plop down on the stairs, and the sound of his Zippo.

As I slam the door to floor Thirteen, I breathe a deep breath.

I hate my period.

* * *

* * *

i know your life is empty / and you hate to face this world alone / so you're searchin' for an angel / someone who can make you whole // i cannot save you / i can't even save myself / so just save yourself

* * *

* * *

"SOUTHWEST!!" a voice booms over a megaphone. "SHOOTERS, SOUTHWEST."

Down below, I can see Michelle pull up her sniper rifle and lean forward. A puff of smoke, a boom, and two hundred yards away I see a man blown off his feet, landing hard on the pavement.

It looks like two teams of four – fairly ambitious, really. Now one of ours go down. And another.

Another of theirs. I point my binoculars to the courtyard, and I see Cypress dashing for the gates. He mantles up the walls and jumps down, landing on the street outside and rabbiting away towards the men.

"CEASE FIRE!!" Phoebe roars through the megaphone. "CEASE FIRE!!"

Oh, fuck no.

I leap from the perch and fly into the stairwell.

By the time I hit ground floor I haven't heard any more shots, and my legs are burning. But I make my way up to Michelle and Lisa on the battlements, double-checking my shotgun.

"What the fuck is he doing?!" I demand.

"Phoebe sent him out – she's calling for a temporary cease-fire."

"That's retarded! When they figure out he's come over here, they'll kill him!"

"Look for yourself," Lisa says, handing over her rifle. I pull it up and squint through the scope – Cypress is talking to them. Two of them have guns on him. A tall one with sandy-blond hair is barking something at Cypress – he doesn't look very happy. Now Cypress shouts at him. I can't make it out, but the bass echoes off the nearby buildings and is just audible. And now Cypress talks to the others – the five remaining – and they all seem dumbfounded.

Now Cypress turns, and begins walking back towards the Tower. And they follow.

Now seven men stroll towards the Glass Tower, guns lowered.

"Oh my God," I say.

"The Gates!" Michelle shouts. Snipers gather around the front gates, and a congingent scurries down to form a wide half-circle around the still-closed gates. Soon we hear their footsteps, and Lisa shouts down to Phoebe;

"I need an order, here!" Phoebe pauses and looks to Denise. Denise quickly produces a cigarette, lights it and hands it to Phoebe.

"Open them," Phoebe says.

The huge gates moan and whine in a duet as they swing slowly, heavily open. The seven men stand outside, and Cypress makes no move to enter, but says;

"Anyone makes a threat of violence, or moves to touch anyone else, I'll kill you. Man or woman."

And with that he steps through the gates into the courtyard. Slowly, the other six follow, led by the tall sandy-blond.

For a moment we're all just staring at each other.

"Cypress says… we thought you'd killed him," the sandy-blond starts.

"Obviously, we spared him," Phoebe says calmly. "We've spared you so far so that you can deliver a message. The truth."

"What truth?"

"I told you," says Cypress. "There is no disease, it's-"

"That's bullshit, man!" the sandy-blond shouts. "They're just chicks feeding you shit! How much have you told them?"

"Crow," Cypress says, waving me into the circle. I step forward, and the sandy-blond raises his sidearm. In a flash, Cypress has smashed the gun away and is gripping the sandy-blond's shoulder, the edge of his sword hot against the taller man's throat.

"Not again," Cypress says. "I'll kill you."

I'm not sure if it's true, myself, but I wouldn't put it past our swordsman.

One week ago yesterday, Phoebe gathered us and made the announcement that there was no disease. No one asked for proof – the rumour got out somehow, and the Tower was prepared to believe it.

But no one else has seen one us touch him. I wonder why, today, he chose me again.

Perhaps, given the danger of the situation, he chose me because he realizes I'm expendable.

Regardless of intent, he pulls off a glove and raises his hand. I do the same. We reach out. And touch.

A communal gasp echoes through the crowd.

"…dude," the sandy-blond says. "How long ago?"

"Just over three weeks," Cypress says, dropping his hand and slipping it into a glove. "And I never felt better."

"Then what…"

"Jessie lied to all of us. All that shit they taught us at school – it was a lie, man."

"Naw, man, you're brainwashed – look at you, you're all pale and shit-"

"I've been indoors a lot."

"FUCK that, man!" and now sandy-blond pulls up his knife, just in time to loose his arm at the wrist, and his head at the jawline. The body tumbles to the ground, the severed hand still clutching the knife, the face frozen in creases of anger.

Cypress wipes the blade quickly with a cloth before returning it to his staff. He turns to the other men.

"Anyone else?" The others don't look at each other – they look at the ground, they look down – they look within and reflect.

"Remember when Cypress blew up your squad car?" one of the snipers asks.

"That was you?" someone says.

"That fuckin' squad car or yours was driving us crazy – all the distractions while you attacked elsewhere. But we could never figure out a way to get to it. Cypress figured it all out – your patterns, everything. Climbed into the courtyard between the guard shifts, planted a bomb he designed with a timer and got out before you guys had any idea he was here. All the shit we can't figure out… He's probably the sharpest mother fucker I know." The sniper looks to the others, and says, "Anyone gonna' suggest he doesn't know what he's talking about?"

The others nod in agreement.

"Not me."

"But Jessie won't believe us," he tells Phoebe. "There's no way. …unless we had, like… proof."

Cypress nods and turns back towards the gates, motioning to the others to leave, before turning back to us.

"Looks like I'm taking a walk for a bit," he says. "I'll need a volunteer."

We all look to each other, and Michelle vaults off the gate battlements to land beside him.

"I'll go."

"You sure as fuck won't," I say. "You're an Alpha, we can't risk you."

"I'm an Alpha, therefor if it gets tight I'll be able to handle getting out."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Floor Thirteen! Down here!" Phoebe barks. We quickly congegate, and she whispers harshly; "Crow is right – we can't risk Michelle or Lisa. Crow will go-"

"But-"

"But they're both members of your floor, so the rest of you will shadow them from three hundred yards or so. We'll have them wait until sunset to leave. I'll have Floor Ten fill in for your work on the River Project tomorrow. This is our chance to end it – set?"

"Set," we all say, turning to Cypress.

"Call them in," Phoebe says. "And break out the beer and smoke – we'll have a feast of welcome. All weapons are forbidden, except on myself and our neutral swordsman. Someone clean up this body! Who's on med detail?"

* * *

I'm loath to say it – it's a great party. With all our arms laid down inside the tower, and the men's in a pile, somewhere visible, the thirty or so women and seven men attending enjoy themselves. Phoebe even allows Anze to set up a stereo in the courtyard, but she alone chooses the music.

I stay over by the garden with Sophie and watch from a distance. Cypress weaves in and out of the crowd, like… a wolf. He moves like a wolf on his way to one destination or another. Trotting lightly, but with purpose. I've spent long hours watching him, and he never moves without some destination. If he does appear to be strolling randomly, it is still clear that his brain is humming. He's working things out. He's examaning the guards – the weapons – the shifts – the arrangements of the courtyard. He's considering military tactics against the old ones. And, perhaps, Westwood. He's trying to find a logical solution to the problems presented by the rising emotions of Floor Thirteen.

Always with a purpose, always considering the consequences, always calm, Cypress moves through the crowd from one destination to another. Michelle – Phoebe – one of the men – Lisa in the corner – Saku, who has since become friendly with our swordsman. Always a destination.

In the writhing mass that only serves as a backdrop for Cypress, men and women are, for the first time, touching. At first with tentativeness that turns, at times, to enthusiasm. But it is all a backdrop for Cypress. Everything else is blurry aside from him.

When his back is turned, I know when he smiles because the muscles of his neck change in a certain way.

Long hours spent.

I think many things I would never say.

But between you and I, I love him.

I could not imagine a point where I might tire of learning about him. Learning everything about the child he was before the war. We're both Betas. Were we in the same class? Did he pull my hair at lunchtime?