I found this copy of the story, rejection letter still clipped to it, in storage a few weeks back. I scanned it in and worked on re-formatting it. I thought it lost, along with the other stories- lost in a shuffle of papers when I was thrown out back in 2013. There are two others still out there, lost: Nov. 1, and Promises of Heaven, which was my longest work before writing my book (and PhD work). Maybe someday they'll turn up someday- I'm not holding my breath.
I wrote this story for an advanced fiction writing class in fall of 1987. The instructor was professor Philip Klass, better known as sci-fi author William Tenn. Under his watchful eye (and sarcastic pen), this story completely changed from something really stupid to what it is now- with a FAR better ending. This piece was rejected by a noted science fiction magazine with a terse form letter in 1990. re-reading it now, I see why. It's extremely violent and dehumanizing among other issues.
It started roughly as a story about why I transferred from Drexel University to Penn State, and that people joined Greek houses for parties, and such, but also for protection- people to walk with so one wouldn't be mugged. This morphed into an improbable sci-fi story of urban hell. Still, if you buy the premise, it has some very good points. Professor Klass wrote on the final version he saw "You have an ear for dialogue, and that's a rare gift."
After graduation, I edited it a bit for grammar and a couple of bits of stroy that didn't make sense, and copyrighted it (and three other stories) in 1991. One of those four, Disorganized Light, can be found in this blog.
Thirty five years later, it's easy for me to poke holes in the story. It name drops a lot of my fraternity brothers both at Drexel and PSU. The antagonists- the Musloids- are broad stereotypes whose name should be evidence enough of that fact. I wrote them as almost sub-human in a way of "othering" them and therefore justifying all the killing. I recognize now, it was my own racism that caused me to do that, especially given that I assume whiteness when writing about the protagonists. Also, the lead character, loosely based on me, was very flawed in several ways doing things I actually did (cheat on someone) and didn't (cheat on an exam.) Also, I never thought through what society would be like for graduates of Sentinel. What would life be like for these former street warriors? PTSD? Or even just a transfer student from such a violent place to the "veritable paradise" that I describe as "State?"
In any case, here it is, unedited since 1991. I'd be very interested in your thoughts.
Trigger warning: Alcoholism, violence, guns
********************************************************************
His
head exploded. Blood and bone rained all over my battered body. The other
attacker froze. His eyes were real wide. He dropped his weapon.
"It's
cool, man. I'll leave. Please, man! We can deal!'
The
right side of his chest was instantly torn away, and pasted to the wall. The
last thing I remember before passing out is seeing six people wearing black
jackets coming toward me.
I
woke up in the hospital. I had a broken left arm, a concussion, and several
broken ribs. What a way to start my freshman year. That was the fourth time I
was mugged since I came to Sentinel University.
“Sentinel
University: guarding the gateway to the future." What a laugh. Sentinel is
located in a bad neighborhood in the city. It’s been years, maybe since the
turn of the century, since this area has been safe. They don't tell you that in the brochure.
They have a highly respected engineering
program, and that's why I went there. I came from a small farming town, full of
crazy ideas about college life with its parties and stuff. I had no idea that
it didn't exist anymore. Me? I'm Darren Hoffman, Sentinel class of 2071, and a
first-class idiot for being there.
I
was in the hospital for two days while they fixed my ribs. The Bone mender
wouldn't work on my arm because of some allergy I have. It has something to do
with bong elasticity, or something. My roommate and my parents visited. They
gave me the usual 'you should be more careful' speech. Then, ten minutes before
the end of visiting hours, in walked six guys. They were wearing black jackets
with dull yellow trim and yellow greek letters. Fraternity brothers.
I
froze.
Fraternity
brothers have the well-deserved reputation of being rough. They're just like the other street gangs,
except that brothers go to college, and usually don't come from the city. My
grandpa told me that when he went to college, fraternities were all social: all
parties and stuff. Not anymore.
Anyway,
they came in. They looked only a little older than me, except for their eyes. Their
eyes looked real old, like my dad's or something. One guy held up my wallet.
“You
lost this." He tossed it on the bed. I found out later that everything was
still in it, though I didn't dare check it at the time.
“Yer
lucky we came along, dude. You was in a bad way. Anyway, Zonk here was comin'
in to get some new teeth, so we thought we'd return yer wallet. Why did you do
such a dumb ass thing? Never walk around at night with less than six
people."
Six
heavily armed people." said Zonk with a grin. He had only three teeth.
Ugly. Real ugly.
They
asked me to join them. I found out why later: four brothers had been killed by
the Musloids, a gang of locals that roam the city, led by Skeletron. Skeletron
isn't his real name, but it's name enough. He is mean. The Musloids declared war on all
fraternities, because he thought they were on his turf. The scariest thing is
that they're everywhere. You see Musloids on the streets mugging people, and
you see them working at places like food stops. You can tell who they are by
the 'M' they have carved on the back of their left hands. If they have a left
hand.
I
accepted the brothers' offer. I was tired of being a victim.
Pledging
was rough. I pledged with ten other guys, and three died during the process. It
was a street survival course, kinda like a military boot camp. They told us
that we had to be as tough as the locals, and then some. My big brother in the
fraternity, 'Xenon,' really helped me through, you know, with moral support. He
and his fiancée, Blair, they were always there for me. They did everything
together. She knew a lot of things about the fraternity that she shouldn't
have.
I
was initiated into the fraternity on May 4, 2068, a year and a half ago. That's
when they gave us our weapons. I chose an antique: a semi-automatic .357
magnum, with infra-red sight. It’s over thirty-five years old, but it still
works. It works too well. Since initiation, I’ve killed nine people, and maimed
three, and I've been hospitalized five times.
The worst part about the hospital is that they take away everyone's weapons,
but it seems safe so I don't worry. The police were never told about any of
these things. They wouldn't care anyway. Killing bothers me, but every time it
was self-defense. Yeah, self-defense.
Anyway,
some brother from another chapter is visiting. He has business in the city for
a few days, so he's staying with us. We're taking turns putting him up. He says
his name is Rob, and he goes to some big, rural university, where he's a member
of the fraternity.
“So
you guys, like, carry guns. Is it that bad here?”
“Yeah,
it is." I look him over. He looks spoiled. He's got nice clothes, sunglasses,
and even a gold nose ring. I haven't seen gold in a few years, and nose rings
have been out since 2050.
“Is
that why the windows have steel plates with gun ports? I mean, like, this place
is like a fortress. Why bother?”
“Well,
if we had glass windows, someone'd be bound to throw a grenade in, or worse.”
"Like
who?'
“Well,
the local gangs usually. Or maybe an enemy house. There's seven fraternities
and four sororities on this campus, so it's not unusual for one house to fight
another."
"God!
We don't have nothin' like that out at State.'
“Really?"
“Yeah.
We carry knives sometimes, y' know, for, like, the locals n' stuff, but you guys
are, like, carrying artillery pieces!"
“Uh,
yeah. What else is different?”
“Well,
there's, like, not as many cops, and hardly any anti-grav vehicles, armed or
otherwise. We just basically have, like, a good time, and y'know, like, get
high like usual, get laid, and shit like that.”
“Sounds
like fun."
“Fuckin'
A it is, man. Like, it's great when we, like, have parties...'
“You
have parties?'
“Sure.
Don't you?"
“No.
We don't let anyone near the door. Anyway, sorry to interrupt.”
“Oh
yeah. Where was I?"
“Parties."
“Oh
yeah. Anyway, Darren, when we have parties, all these girls come out...'
"You
still call them 'girls'?"
“Yeah..."
“To
their faces?"
“Yeah.
Why? Don't you?"
“They'd
shoot our nuts off if we did. We call 'em women, or ladies, or by their first names.”
"Oh."
“Sorry
to interrupt. You were sayin'?"
"Oh
yeah, uh, well, the gir...women come out, and we, like, have a wild time. Y'
know, playin' drinking games, dancing, gettin' laid...”
"ls
that all you think about?'
“What?"
"Gettin'
laid.”
“Well,
no. I, like, go to classes n'stuff. Why?"
“You
keep bringing it up”
“Oh. Sorry.
Anyway, dude, you should like, come out, and visit us sometime.”
"Yeah.
I'll try.'
Last
year, one of the pledges, a city kid, chose me as his big brother. We call him 'Dusty.' It wasn't my idea: I
wanted to call him Pee Wee. Anyway, we
hang out a tot together. In fact, he's my roommate this year. After Rob leaves, Dusty comes back from
class.
“So,
Dusty, who're you goin' out with tonight?"
"Tonight
it's, uh, Faye's turn. Think I should bring her flowers or somthin'?'
“Uhhh,
nah. Who's Faye?"
“God,
Darren, you goin' senile? You met her last week. She's the blond with the
huge...uh, gazongas.”
“Oh
yeah! I remember now! I thought you had her already. A second date is bad for
your image as a playboy."
“Well,
she's worth a second shot.”
“Who's
goin' with you?"
“Deke,
Skorny, Lella, Hackster, and...oh shit! I need one more. You wanna come?"
Fraternity
regulations require that no one leaves the house at night without a minimum of
five other brothers along with him.
“I
don't have a date.”
“I
could call Donna for ya!" Donna was the person he laid Monday night.
Dusty said she likes
me, too. I hate having to be fixed up on dates, and I tell him so.
“Well,
dude, if you could get your own women, I wouldn't have to do it
for ya.”
I
throw my calculus book at him. He laughs, and unplugs his jacket from the armor
charger.
An
hour later, Donna is nibbling on my ear as we ride in a fraternity cruiser. We
have four of them. They look like eight-foot-high, street-gray, trapezoidal
solids with a small turret. Like every other house, we buy used police
cruisers. They remove the main gun, then sell them real cheap. We buy them
because they have a lot thicker armor than a regular family cruiser. Of course,
we put our own guns in the turret. The cruisers we have are relatively weak:
only twelve inches of armor, a 120-mm. cannon, and three fifty-caliber machine
guns. The Thetas claim their cruisers fire tactical nukes. Anyway, the other
brothers are manning the weapons while I drive. The anti-grav units that power
the thing aren’t working too well, so the ride's a bit rough.
We
pull into the night club parking lot. 'The Sensational Strobe' is the best
nightspot in town. After shutting down and locking the systems, we open the
door, and take our weapons off safety. There are plenty of parking-lot security
men, so we reach the club without incident. Donna runs her hand over my chest
as I pay the cover. Anyone can get into these places since the drinking age was
lowered to ten. We check our guns at the door, and feel thankful that we carry
knives.
The
club is crowded. I see some familiar faces from school. There are a few Beta
Kappas here, and a few Sigma women. We're on good terms with both. Midterms
ended last week, so I guess everyone's just blowing off steam. I know I am. My
last exam was astro-physics 512. I cheated off the geek next to me, and I think
I barely passed. It was rough, especially since they use cameras to check for
cheating. Fortunately, one of my brothers was working the camera room, and, of
course, didn't report me.
“Will the owner of cruiser license number
PKS-189 please return to your vehicle. Your lights are on. Repeating: PKS-189,
your lights are on.”
“What
the hell, Darren! Forget to turn off the lights, you dipshit?"
I
sigh and get up. "l'll be right back." I pick up my gun and record my
retina code so I can get back in.
The
night has gotten cooler, and a mist is coming in from the river. The only sounds I hear are the hum of anti-gravs
being charged, and the whirr of the atmosphere purifiers. I don't see any
parking-lot security, so I pull my gun, and activate the sight. I reach our
cruiser. The lights are off. Something catches my eye behind the next cruiser,
so I slowly go over.
It's
a parking-lot security man. His armor has a hole burned into it. But only
police carry lasers that powerful...The air burns past my ear. I flatten on the
ground, and crawl behind a cruiser. A thin line of red light flashes by: a
laser. You can't hear them, and they're deadly. Who's shooting at me? And where
did they get a laser? A shadow behind me. I turn and fire. A Musloid's stomach
explodes like a bloody fireworks display. My arm burns. I’ve been hit. I roll
to put out the fire. I need help. Pain. Help. Pain. I fight back the panic.
Look up. Another Musloid with a police rifle.
He's smiling.
“Drop
it or I'll fry yer fuckin' nuts off."
I
drop my gun. Pain. I'm dead. He's smiling. Pain. I think I pissed myself. He
looks up. A rain of bullets tear him apart. My brothers are here. I roll over,
and grope for my gun. I think about that school where I wouldn't need it. Dusty
picks up the police laser. Godl My arm hurts! I hear somebody running away, and
the Musloid I shot groaning behind me. Deke
walks over to him.
“Dar-man,
yer losin' yer touch. He's still alive." He puts his shot gun to the
Musloidrs crotch, and pulls the trigger. The Musloid screams for about thirty
seconds, then Deke shoots him in the head.
Deke
smiles like a kid at Christmas. Dusty helps me up, and comments on how I won't get
laid tonight. They take me back to the house, without our dates.
I
sit in my room with a bandage on my arm to cover the insta-skin graft on the
burn hole. I'm coming off the high from the drugs that the house medic gave me.
Rob, the visiting dude, is sitting with me.
“So,
Darren is it?" "Yeah.” “Okay.
Darren, man, like, you guys don't , like, fool around. Hey, why don't you have
a bunch of severed hands with M's carved on 'em like whatsizname does?"
“Deke.
Why don't l? Guess I have taste. Those show how many Musloids you kill."
“Well,
how come no one never, like, hears about this shit outside the city?"
“Uhh,
restrictive information act, I think it was called. City mayors are allowed to,
uhh, declare a press blackout in times of crisis. It’s been around for four or
five years. No press allowed. Not even the governors. Gets in the way of business.”
“Isn't
that, like, unconstitutional?”
“I
guess so. Congress passed it though. President signed it. Nobody knows why.
Probably pay-offs.”
“I
never even, like, heard of it.”
“Press
blackout, all the way."
Xenon
stumbles in, drunk.
“So,
'lil' bro, yerrr ffucked up uh-gin.' He leans against the post of my bunk bed,
and belches.
“Not
as fucked up as you. Where's Blair?"
“Don't
know. Probably.ggettin' sssick. She had, uh, more'n me.” He takes a large gulp
from his bottle, and grimaces.
“Why
in hell do to drink that pisswater, dude?”
“Pputs
hair 'n m' chest.” He smiles and slumps
to the floor. He's out cold. Deke walks in, swinging some freshly severed hands
on a string.
“Xenon!
Lookin' good pledge-bro!” He picks up the bottle, and pockets it.
“Well,
Dar-man, guess what I heard?"
“You're
pregnant!"
“Ha
ha.”
“You
got your mom pregnant?"
"Fuck
off! Seriously, it turns out that the dude you shot tonight was Skeletron's
brother or something. One of his boys called a threat in on you individual-like."
'That's
like the fourth or fifth brother of his we hit. Must be quite a litter. Anyway,
how many threats is that on me now? Five?"
"Six.
Puts you in the lead in this house. Borowski over in Theta has you beat by two
for campus lead, though. Congrats anyway!”
“How'd
he say he's gonna do it this time? The usual slow death by bad breath?”
“Nah.
Said he'd peel ya like an apple. Hope ya don't have worms.”
We
laugh until Xenon begins to puke. Rob and Deke carry him off to the
bathroom.
Next
day is my history class. I took national history, 'cause it sounded better than
ethnic history. Sentinel is one of the few schools left that teach any kind of
liberal arts, just like they're one of the few with all human instructors: no
computers. They're real proud of it too. They put in the brochure real big:
'the total education for a total you.' Those are the main reasons I came to
this hole. There's more to life than crunchin' numbers. Most colleges dropped
liberal arts, since the end of the tech-revolution. All the big brains were too
busy getting high to further technology. Progress stopped. Colleges panicked,
especially after the Russians built Moonbase. So to turn out engineers and
scientists quicker, most colleges dropped everything but the tech courses.
Anyway, today Dr. Goldstein is covering the Federal Drug Regulation Act of
1996.
“...So,
are there any more questions about the exam? Going once, twice, gone. Okay,
class, what can you tell me about the D.R.A. from your reading? Ms.
Sigman?"
“It
generated lots of money for the government. The federal deficit was wiped out
in a matter of months."
"Ah!
So all is peachy? Who signed it, and what happened as a result? Mr. Raymond.”
“President
Hibowitz. She was called a hero, and then impeached on embezzlement
charges."
“And
her replacement, Mr. Raymond?'
"President
Cappeletti.”
“What
about her?"
“She
was Italian? I don't know."
“Mr.
Daugherty.”
“Her
replacement was like a puppet of the military. Street violence in the cities
went out of control, as addicts would kill anyone for drug money."
"Right.
Then, the police took the operation under federal regulation. The government
recruited the former crime families to be the sole manufacturers of the drugs,
to be sold only by police, for a hefty profit. The black market drugs are
considered too unsafe to use, due to federal poisoning. Was the transition to a
profit-hungry police force smooth? Mrs. Cliff.”
“No.
Since then, murder, rape, and arson are no longer important: kinda like
jaywalking. The police are only worried about turning a profit. Anyone not
payin' the police protection tax, or late on their drug money, gets real dead
real quick. It’s their way of curbing the population explosion."
Some
muffled laughter. “That's right, class. Real funny. Do you know what it really
was? The end of civilization. Millions became addicts. Then, with the press
supplying phony news to the suburbs, no one questioned what was happening on
the city streets. I mean, you need a goddamn permit to enter the city! ln the
suburbs, people are always too stoned to worry about it. Doesn't that make you
think? Even a little?”
Silence.
“And
what about the Soviets? What did they think about our new policy? Ms. Wu?”
“They
were more than happy to watch us self-destruct. Then they instituted a
prohibition law.”
“Which
led to?”
'”No
more Stoly's vodka.”
He
stifles his taugh. "Yes, that and the Murmansk riots of 2011. 4000 rumored
dead. Still, what were the sociological effects here? What about the cuIture?
The children?"
A
muffled cough.
“Oh,
why do I bother? Next time, we'll cover the U.S. role in the Franco-Spanish War
of 2002. Have a safe day.”
Rob's
descriptions keep bugging me. People actually have fun at his college? No
weapons and no police? I didn't think places like that existed anymore. The
next day, I go down to the Sentinel registrar's office, and get information
about transferring. I leave it out on my desk, and Dusty sees it.
“What's
this bullshit?"
“What's
it look like? I want out. I'm tired of this killing, and shit. I came to
college to learn engineering, not to blow people away."
"That's
bullshit! You can't leave! Yer needed here! After Xenon and Deke, you n'
Cheever are the oldest brothers in the house. You're a goddamn former
president! People look up to you, man. You can't back out now, you fuckin'
country hick. What are you gonna do if someone crosses ya at State? Here, you
fuckin' blow 'em away! That's power, man. No one fucks
with you here. You
can't leave.”
"Yeah?
Watch me. Dusty, I heard about a college where you don't even need a gun! They
even have parties! That sounds a hell of a lot better than getting blown away
by some stupid asshole for no reason.”
“Shit”
And here I thought my big bro was a real man. Guess I had it wrong. Fuckin'
hick.” He slams the door as he leaves. I
think it's Lisa's turn tonight.
That
night is the bi-weekly chapter meeting. It’s dull as usual, until new business.
Cheever, the house president, brings it up.
"It has come to my
attention that Darren might be transferring out of here. ls this true?"
I
sit up, and clear my throat. "Uh, well, uh, I've been, uh, thinking about
it, yeah.”
“Well,
we were talkin' about this at the officers' meeting. We can’t allow you to leave.
I mean, if you leave, one of us could get killed.'
“Yeah,
and if I stay, it could be me. And besides, there's nothin' you can do to stop
me. If I wanna leave, I'll leave."
“Look,
pledge bro, don't try to bullshit me. I’m ready for you."
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.
It turns out that brother Devinney has a copy of some interesting fitm he
swiped from the camera room after your 512 midterm. If we chose to send it to
the admissions office at State, you wouldn't have a prayer of gettin' in. Not
to mention you'd be kicked out of this school.”
“You're
bluffing.”
“You
know me, Dar-man. We pledged together. I don't bluff.”
“You're
a bastard, Cheever.”
He
smiles. “I guess we can consider the matter closed then?”
“For
now. But I'll remember this.”
The
next day, I go out with Xenon, Blair, Dusty, and some pledge for a little
daylight drinking. Rob went home to a paradise I'll never know. It’s a
Saturday, so there's a lot more cops out than usual. Saturday is collection day
for police tax, so they're pretty busy. We go to the college bar, the “Condom,"
which is only a couple of blocks away. After a few pitchers of beer, we're all.
feeling pretty good. I hear that Dr. Goldstein was dismissed by the University
for "health reasons.' Xenon spills beer on Blair, so she wants to go home
to change. Xenon doesn't want to leave, so she asks me to escort her there and
back. She doesn't live too far away, so why not?
The
air is pretty chilly, even for late October. Blair has only a light jacket on,
and it's wet, so she's freezing. She asks if we can huddle together to keep
warm. Why not?
We
arrive at her apartment building, and show our lDs to the guard at the door.
The elevators are busted, so we have to take the stairs. The stairs are covered
with slime and moss, and they smell like a sewer. Or like Dusty's cooking. The
climb to the fourteenth floor is slow: I feel like gagging after the sixth.
We
finally get to her room. She disables the security devices, and we go in. I've
never been here before. It’s nice, if you like earth-tones. She goes into her
room to change. A few minutes later, she calls for me.
“Could
you come in here and help me with something?"
The
bedroom is dark, so she asks me to turn on the lights. When I do, I see her
standing naked in the middle of the room. I never noticed what a beautiful body
she had, because she always wears bulky, loose clothes.
She
comes over, and slips my jacket off of me.
“I'm
tired of being with a drunkard. I want someone who'll satisfy me for a
change."
“Well…”
I glance toward the .door.
"Did
anyone ever tell you that you have the most beautiful blue eyes?"
An
hour later, we're walking back to the bar. When we get there, Xenon is passed
out on the table. Dusty is drawing things on his face with a light pen. The
pledge is getting more beer. We sit and talk for a while, then me, Dusty, and
Blair get up to go back to the house. We tell the pledge to help Xenon back. It'll
be dark soon.
We
get back safely. Blair goes to Xenon's room to wait. Dusty goes to get some
food. I do my physics homework. If this were State, I could be at a party now.
Unarmed.
After
a short nap, I hear arguing down the hall. Xenon and Blair are having a rare
fight. I join the several other brothers listening at the door.
"Jordan,
I'm tired of your drinking! I can't marry a goddamn lush!” Jordan is Xenon's
real name.
“Well,
I got nothin' better t' do.”
“Oh,
so I'm nothing better, huh. You'd rather get fucked up than be with me, wouldn't you? I can't take
this anymore! I've tried. I really have. I just can't take it anymore."
She starts to cry.
"I'm
sorry. I love you. Don't wanna hurcha. Please don' leave. I can't help it.
'Sides, I thought you said it was cute or something.”
“It
was cute for a while, Jordan. Not anymore. t'm tired ol watching you destroy
yourself. I don't want this anymore, Jordan. I...just don't. l'm sorry.”
She
runs out of the room, almost knocking over three of us. Xenon looks out the
window for a minute, mumbles something, then stumbles out after her. I go back
to my room to study. They usually fight it out in the attic. That's probably
where they've gone.
A
couple of hours later, someone goes up to the attic. No one is there. We search
the house, but neither of them are here. We call Blair's apartment. She's
there, apd hasn't seen Jordan since she left. The pledges at the door say he
left over an hour ago.
Cheever
organizes four search parties of ten each. My team searches the area north for
three blocks. Beyond that is posted Musloid territory, and is too dangerous to
enter, especially at night. We search for an hour, then go back to the house.
One of the other groups had found him. He was crucified to the side of a building.
His throat and genitals were cut, and a large X was slashed into his chest. We
put him in a box, and send him home on one of the cruisers. Everyone else meets
in the foyer. Deke is the first to speak.
“The
slashes in his chest are Skeletron's personal trademark. Probably done with that barbed machete he
carries. Where didja find him?'
“A
couple of blocks east of campus, near the river."
The
fraternity decides to send our strongest cruiser into Musloid territory
tomorrow. They want to blow people away. I want no part of it. I call Blair, and tell her what happened. She
takes it badly. That surprises me.
That
night, I can't sleep. I keep thinking about Jordan. He did so much for me, and
in the end, I betrayed him. I screwed his fiancee'. I cant help but think that
it was my fauIt that they fought. My fauIt.
Dusty
snores. I never noticed that before.
I
guess I finally fell asleep, because a ptedge wakes me up. Cheever wants me to
go with the cruiser into Musloid territory.
“Fuck
off.”
“But
Cheever wants you to come. He told me so.”
"l'm
not going, so leaye me alone.”
He
stands there, staring at me.
“Did
I stutter? Get out!"
He
runs out of the room. Dusty walks in, carrying the laser he picked up.
“So
you're not goin'?"
“No.”
“Well,
fuck you then." He leaves.
After
a quick shower, I head down to the radio room. The cruiser is a block into
Musloid territory. All is quiet. I see a few faces on the cruiser’s inside
monitor. The outside monitors show a lot of old, wrecked houses, and some
wrecked cars. I wonder how long they've been there- at least fifty years? It’s like
a ghost town. I’ve never seen Musloid turf before. There's no one on the
streets. It’s too quiet. Three blocks in.
I
grab a mike. 'Cheev, your outside monitors show nothing. You thinking
trap?"
“Probably.
Uh, Darren, could you have a second group ready?' His voice is shaking.
“Rescue?"
“Yeah.
I kinda don't think we'll be comin' back.”
“So
why did you want me along?"
“Yer
my pledge bro, man. Us two, we're the last ones left from our class. I, uh,
kinda wanted you here with me when it happened. I don’t wanna die alone.”
At
State, he wouldn't have to.
“Okay,
Cheev, you've got your second team. You need us, just give the word.”
I
spend the next five minutes putting together a rescue team. We wait in the last
cruiser, watching the monitors of Cheever's group. Six blocks, still
nothing...wait. Up ahead there's a body in the street. It has a red and white
jacket: a Theta. His head is lying a few feet away. A pledge throws up.
I
hear Cheev say "Let's get the hell out of here."
Guns
come out of the windows all around. Suddenly, shooting comes from everywhere.
The monitors screens go a little fuzzy, like there's something wrong with their
transmission. The other cruiser is immobilized, but its guns open up on
everything. One of its outside monitors is hit, and it goes black.
Buildings
are falling all around from the cruiser’s big gun. Cheever is yelling something
about gas. He orders everyone out.
“Dar-man,
get us out of here!"
We
go full speed. We hear on the scanner that the police are on the way. It'll be
a massacre. The other cruiser's monitors go black.
Three
minutes later, we see the cruiser on our monitor. Thick, black
smoke is gushing out of
it. I see a lot of bodies. I see a few brothers hiding behind things. Beyond that, I see a lot of people: men,
women, and kids, firing at them. The little ones are throwing rocks. We open
fire with everything we have.
Our
door opens, and I run to the other cruiser, firing as I go. The other brothers
are dragging in the dead and wounded. There are four bodies in the other
cruiser. Everything is smashed. Cheever is slouched against the wall, coughing.
He's badly burned. I help him outside.
“Darren.
Thanks, man."
The
shooting is heavy. Someone is walking down the street toward us, like he's God
or something. He's carrying a machete, and smiling. Skeletron. I take careful
aim, and fire my last bullet. It rips his right leg off at the waist. He
screams, and falls to the ground. Someone yells from inside the cruiser.
"Cops
are almost here!"
My
shoulder is hit. I'm soaked in my own blood. My left arm is useless. Pain. I
jump into the cruiser. It’s packed. Other people jump in.
"That's
all! Go!"
I
pass out.
A
few hours later, I wake up in the house. They're evacuating us to the hospital.
I find out Cheever is dead. There's a total of twenty-two dead, and sixteen
wounded. I look over the dead bodies, remembering what each person was like.
Dusty.
Dusty
is dead, too.
Deke
comes over.
“What
now, Darren?"
Cheever
is dead. Jordan is dead. Now Dusty. Twenty-two kids are dead.
“I
don't know.”
I'm
to be in the hospital for a week. On the second day, Devinney comes in. He
drops a film disc onto my bed.
“How
do you feel, Dar-man?"
"Doc
says it'll be a few days. What's on the disc?'
“Your
512 midterm film. I figured you'd want it."
“Thanks.”
“A
bunch of the guys are thinking of nominating you for president.”
“I
can't do it. I'm transferring out to State."
“Can't
say I blame you. What about us, though? We need you.”
. “I can't stand it no more, Devinney. It’s
not like this is the 1990s or something.
Christ, then you could walk the streets safe at night. I'm tired of fighting. I
don't want it no more.”
“Yeah.
Besides, the cost of ammo is higher then the damn drugs.”
“Well,
you could always steal weapons from the Musloids.”
Devinney
smiles. "Are you sure, Dar-man? About leaving? We'll miss you.”
"I
made up my mind. I wanna graduate from college, not be killed by
it.”
"Well,
good luck then."
As
Devinney leaves, a doctor walks in and closes the door. He looks, kinda shabby,
like he's had a long day. As he smiles a green tinged smile at me, I notice the
letter carved on his hand. Instinctively, I reach for a weapon that's not
there.
Unpublished work copyright:
Sophie Kandler 1991
