Myrikal Page 4

  Folding his arms across his chest, he narrowed his eyes. “Hmm… do you have any other weaknesses?”

  “Hmf,” she huffed. “Like I’d tell you if I did!”

  Branch nodded and smiled. “Fair enough.” He glanced down and tottered a little as he put more weight on his hurt ankle. “So… what are you doing today?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  He shrugged one shoulder and looked into her face again. “Just wondering. Maybe we could hang out or something.”

  Myri narrowed her eyes. “Okaaay. Maybe. First you have to tell me something about yourself. What’s your story?”

  “Fine, but can we sit down while we talk? My ankle feels like someone’s poking it with a burning stick.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Myri sat and leaned her back against a tree.

  Branch limped over and sat next to her. “My story isn’t much.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  He sighed. “Well, my parents are dead… I think. They left me with the Repopulation Clan and took off to try to find some food. They never came back.”

  “You live with a clan? What’s that like?” Myrikal’s dad insisted that the clans were all evil and only out for themselves.

  “Yeah.” He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you?”

  She shook her head. “No way.”

  “How do you survive, then? Why don’t you belong to a clan?”

  “My dad and I survive just fine on our own.” She wasn’t about to tell him that her dad was an assassin and she was an assassin-in-training. She didn’t want to scare off the one kid her age she’d really ever talked to. “So, why Branch?”

  “Why should I tell you? You won’t tell me why you’re named Myrikal.” He smiled as he said it, like he was just joking.

  Myri ducked her head and pulled up a small sapling by the roots, flinging it into a tree on the other side of the small clearing. She whispered, “It was a joke. Kind of the opposite of how my dad really feels about me.”

  The smile faded from Branch’s face. “Oh. That sucks. Sorry.”

  They sat in silence for several long minutes.

  “My real name is Morgan,” Branch said, startling Myri out of her brooding thoughts. “There was already a Morgan in the Clan when we joined—and no one can have the same name—so they started calling me Branch.”

  “Why Branch?” she asked again.

  He rested his arms on his bent knees and rolled his eyes. “When I was younger it was my job to hold a tree branch out of the way when the leaders paraded through the entrance to our compound.”

  Myri snorted as she tried to hold in a laugh. “Good thing you didn’t have to hold back the flowers or something.” She smiled. “I guess it’s as good a name as any. Better than mine, anyway.” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “What’s your job now?”

  “Tending to one of the gardens.” He perked up as he continued. “It’s actually one of the better jobs because I can get up early and get everything done and then goof off for the rest of the day.”

  Before he could ask about her or her dad’s “job”, Myri jumped up and stuck her hand out to him again. “Let’s go do some of that goofing off now. I don’t get to do much of that.”

  “Myri, wait up!” Branch yelled between gasping breaths.

  She turned to face him, running backwards. “You’re slower than my dad—and he’s old!”

  He scowled and slowed even more. Myrikal stopped, hands on hips, and waited for him to reach her.

  He limped up to her then stood bent over with hands on knees as he sucked in great breaths of air.

  “You need to get in better shape,” Myri said.

  Glancing up at her from his stooped position, he grinned. “I don’t see no sense in running unless I’m being chased.”

  “And how’s that working out for you so far?”

  Branch straightened up and drew in another big breath. He cocked his head to the side and said, “You know, not that great, actually.”

  “You might find yourself tied up to tree branches a lot less if you had some stamina.”

  “What’s ‘stamina’?”

  Myri rolled her eyes. “The more you run or do other exercises, the more you’re able to run farther and faster. That’s just common sense.”

  He grinned. “Nothin’ about me is common. Including my sense.”

  Myrikal laughed for the second time that day and it warmed her frozen heart.

  “Myrikal, where the hell have you been?” Russ yelled.

  “I was just out exploring.” She’d decided not to tell her dad about Branch or the confrontation with the bullies. Branch had shown her where to find the entrance to his clan’s compound, and they’d agreed that she would come there whenever she could get away. Branch would watch for her since she wouldn’t be allowed inside the compound.

  “You were gone much longer than usual. Did something out of the ordinary happen?” he asked.

  She’d never really had to lie before, and she didn’t want to start now, but she needed to protect her new friendship and ensure that Russ wouldn’t clamp down on her already infrequent free time. “I ran farther than I usually do, so it took me longer to get back.” Not a lie.

  Russ scowled. “Well, it’s past dinner time. Grab something quick. We only have a couple of hours of daylight left for training, and there are some things I want to show you.”

  An empty freeze-dried meal pouch lay on the floor beneath his feet, so Myrikal knew her dad hadn’t waited for her to eat. Not that she’d expected him to. She pulled one of the meals out of the duffel bag without even looking at what kind it was. Eating was a necessity, not a thing to enjoy or be picky about. She ripped the top off, added water, and quickly ate the non-descript pasta inside. The supply was running out. It wouldn’t have lasted nearly so long if more than half the world’s population hadn’t died from the ‘quakes and the resulting plague-like illness. As much as her dad detested the clans, they’d have to start bargaining with one of the farm clans before too long. That or starve.

  Before stepping out into the cloud-covered sunshine of early evening, Myri situated her goggles over her eyes.

  Russ ripped them off her face. “No goggles tonight. We need to start training your eyes to go without them.”

  Myri gaped at him, mouth slightly open. “But…”

  “No ‘buts’. We start retraining your eyes tonight. You can’t have any weaknesses for your enemies to exploit.” He shoved the goggles in his jacket pocket and pushed open the door, shoving Myrikal out before him.

  The clouds dimmed the sun’s light, but not enough. Myri shaded her eyes with her hands and squinted to let the least amount of light in as possible. Tears instantly sprang to her eyes and ran down her face. It didn’t really hurt—pain wasn’t a sensation Myrikal was familiar with—but it blinded her. She could barely make out the objects directly before her, let alone anything farther than a few feet away. Every item she tried to focus on looked like a glowing blob with tendrils of bright light extending from it in every direction. She reached for Russ’s arm as he walked. He jerked away from her and walked faster.

  Stumbling, eyes flowing like a faucet, and nearly blind, Myri caught up to him and focused on the large, glowing blob she knew to be her dad as she followed directly behind him. Her nimbleness came in handy as she stumbled multiple times on the buckled sidewalks and roads, but never fell, always able to keep her feet.

  Ten or so blocks into their walk, Russ turned down a darkened alley and stopped. Myrikal ran into the back of him as her overwhelmed eyes adjusted to the reprieve of the shadowy dead end.

  He whipped around and grabbed her by the arm, propelling her forward. “Go check out what those ‘nice’ people are doing up there. Be quiet. You don’t want to scare them off. Then come back here to me.”

  Myri nodded and snuck down the alleyway without making a sound—a much easier feat now that she could see. It would have been easier if she hadn’t been wearing the flaming red
lycra suit, but there were plenty of things for her to hide behind. She slid closer and had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep an anguished cry from escaping. She crouched, still fifteen feet from the small crowd gathered around a makeshift cage. Myri watched in horror as the men and women surrounding the cage placed bets on how long it would take for the mangy, medium-sized dog to succumb to the twenty or so rats swarming him.

  The dog bled from hundreds of rat bites and barely had enough life left in him to whimper at the onslaught. Several dead or seriously injured rats lay strewn about the cage. At least he’d gotten some good licks in before he’d become overwhelmed. Myrikal had to stop the despicable carnage. She stood and stepped toward the cheering crowd before remembering Russ. He’d told her not to let them see or hear her. He’d told her to come back to him after she saw what they were doing. She hesitated. Her tender heart warred with her desire to obey her dad. Obedience won out. She couldn’t survive without him. She was only twelve years old. Maybe she could convince him to help?

  She hurried back to where he waited at the mouth of the alley. “Da… Russ. We have to help him! Those people… monsters… they’re torturing him. They’re making bets on how fast the rats will eat him alive.” Myri looked up into his eyes and repeated, “We have to help him.”

  Russ narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “There’s no payment in helping stupid, worthless creatures.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or people for that matter.”

  “But…”

  He leaned down to look her in the eyes. “No, Myrikal. We don’t do anything for free.” He pushed her toward the sidewalk. “I have other things to show you, let’s go.”

  Digging her feet in to resist his next push, Myri turned back toward the tortured animal, intent to save him, her father be damned. She could see perfectly down the long, dark alley. As she stepped toward the caged-dog, pushing against her father’s tight grip on her shoulder, she looked upon the dog, now motionless, eyes glazed over and staring at nothing.

  A cheer erupted from the crowd, along with a couple of groans. “Thirty-seven minutes, twenty-one seconds.” A man’s voice yelled over the crowd. “Whose guess is closest, Mack?”

  Myrikal stopped pushing against Russ’s grip, slumped her shoulders and hung her head. She shaded her eyes—now tearing up from something other than the light—and stepped out into the street.

  “You have got to toughen up, girl,” Russ snarled. “Come on, bleeding heart, I want to show you a couple more things.”

  She didn’t want to see what else he had to show her. Why had he wanted her to see that? To “toughen” her up? She followed him anyway. The sooner they got done with “training” the sooner she could barricade herself in her room and think about anything but what she’d just seen.

  Beneath every viaduct in the city were camps of people, vagrants unable or unwilling to find other shelter. Many of them were mentally ill—a sad side effect of the trauma of the ‘quakes and the deadly virus shortly after. Russ passed by several of these camps, muttering to himself things like, “not this one,” “no witnesses here,” and “maybe…”

  “Ah… perfect.” Russ stopped to the side of a viaduct, just where the crumbling cement started to form a hill.

  Myrikal shaded her sensitive eyes and squinted, looking into the shadows under the bridge.

  A filthy waif of a man in ragged clothes, beard nearly down to his belly button, paced, talking to himself. “Hungry. We need to eat. Fuel for the body, fuel for the mind.” He stopped in his pacing and cocked his head to the side as if listening to someone speak. “Yep.” He resumed his shuffling walk. “Gotta get some food.”

  The vagrant plucked something from his gnarled beard, studied it, then popped it in his mouth. Myrikal looked away, glad she couldn’t see what he’d just eaten.

  A group of three teens watched him from the other side of the viaduct, whispering and laughing.

  Myri had no idea what Russ planned to do, but her stomach roiled in anticipation. It couldn’t be good.

  “Stay here,” Russ commanded. He stepped loudly as he approached the vagrant, drawing the attention of the teens. “Hi, sir. You look like you could use a bite to eat.” He held out a freeze-dried meal packet.

  The skeletal man stopped mid-sentence and raised his eyebrows. He hesitated only a fraction of a second before grabbing the packet from Russ’s outstretched hand. “Bless you, sir.” He shoved the package of food into his tattered jacket.

  Could it be that her father had a shred of decency after all? The blossoming smile on Myrikal’s smooth face froze when Russ turned around and stepped toward her. The menacing sparkle in his eyes combined with the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth turned her blood to ice.

  “Here,” he handed her goggles to her, “put these on. I want you to see this good.”

  She reached for the darkened goggles. What had he done? Had he poisoned the food? She pushed against her chest as her heart pounded against her sternum. She didn’t want to see this—whatever was about to happen. She glanced up at her father and winced at the demented glee in his eyes.

  “Watch, Myrikal.” He gestured toward the man.

  Against every screaming intuition she had, Myri did as he commanded.

  The teens glanced at them, then whispered among themselves. Myrikal heard every word as if they stood right next to her.

  “Do ya’ think they’ll try to stop us?”

  “Nah, even if they do it’s just an old dude and a little girl—what could they do to us?”

  “Come on, before the street-bum takes off. I don’t feel like chasing him down.”

  Myri’s stomach dropped and she took a step toward the trio. Russ put his arm in front of her to stop her. “Just watch.”

  The teens rushed the vagrant, tackling him to the ground. One of the boys held the food pouch aloft in triumph. “Got it!”

  “Please,” begged the man. “Please, we’re… I’m starving—”

  “Shut up, crazy!” The boy holding the food packet kicked him in the ribs.

  The other two followed his lead and stood surrounding the vagrant, kicking him without mercy.

  “This is wrong,” Myri whispered. “We can help him. We should help him.”

  “No,” Russ said. “We shouldn’t.”

  Laughing, the boy with the food aimed one more kick to the man’s head. “Let’s go. We have other crazies to visit.” He glanced at Myri and her father and smiled.

  Myri wanted to go to the man, help him, but was paralyzed by the decade of obedience her dad had trained into her. Without him even asking, she ripped the goggles from her face and shoved them at him. “I’d like to go home now.” Her soft voice quivered.

  “Not yet.” Russ put the goggles into his jacket pocket. “We aren’t finished with today’s lessons.”

  I’m finished, Myri thought. But she turned and followed him anyway.

  Myri remembered distinctly the first time she saw a kitten. She’d been three-years old, walking alongside Russ in the area of Central Park, and a fluffy, gray kitten bounded out of a bush and playfully attacked her foot. She sat and played with the animal for several minutes while her dad watched.

  “Can we bring it home, Da… Russ?” she’d asked.

  “No. It’s worthless. Come on.”

  She’d frowned, but knew better than to beg or throw a tantrum. Unfortunately, the kitten didn’t know better. It followed them down the path, swatting at Myri’s feet as she walked. Russ stopped long enough to kick the kitten. It yowled until it slammed into a tree trunk, then it slid to the ground and lay motionless. Myri had cried silently off and on for days, and blamed herself for her father’s ill treatment of the tiny animal.

  She’d never stopped to play with another animal in her dad’s presence since then, but she couldn’t help but gaze longingly at them whenever she saw one. It was no different this time, as she followed her dad into the darkened recesses of the overgrown park, tears still leaking from her eyes from witnessing
the brutal beating of the man at the viaduct. Her eyes adjusted to the decreased light, and she relaxed the squint.

  Russ stopped and motioned for her to have a seat on a fallen tree. He sat next to her and pointed down the trail to a small clearing. “Watch.”

  At first, upon spotting the mangy orange cat, her spirits lifted, until she remembered the other “training” lessons she’d witnessed already that day. Her stomach filled with dread as a man and a woman lured the animal closer with a dead mouse.

  The man held the half-squished rodent by the tail and drug it along the ground in short little jerks, murmuring, “Come on kitty, kitty, kitty. Come get it.”

  Myrikal wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to run. She wanted to scoop the cat up in her arms and run far away from this awful place. But she didn’t do any of those things. She sat next to her father and stared at the scene playing out before them.

  The cat slunk closer to the man, eyes darting back and forth from him to the mouse. The cat pounced, slowed by its apparent near starvation, and the man grabbed for it, catching it by the loose skin on its back. The cat let out a loud rowrr and flipped, sinking its claws and teeth into the man’s hand.

  The man cussed and slammed his other fist into the cat’s head, then he grabbed it around the throat and yanked, dislodging its pointed teeth from his filthy hand. “Stupid animal! Give me that knife!” he yelled at his female companion. “I’ll teach you to bite the hand that feeds you.”

  Myrikal held her breath as the man strung the cat up by its paws and wrapped a piece of cloth around its head. He raised the knife to the cat’s chest and a small squeak of protest escaped Myri’s lips.

  “Gonna’ skin him alive. Stupid cat.” The man raised his hand to his mouth and sucked on the small puncture wounds.

  Myri squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails digging into the bark of the dead tree.

  Russ nudged her. “Open your eyes, girl. Watch.”

  She watched, some part of her cursing her enhanced senses. Her body trembled as the knife pierced the skin of the living animal. The sound of the dull blade ripping through its hide. The cat’s heart racing. The copper scent of the blood dripping to the ground. The cat fighting, squirming, twisting against its bonds. And—most of all—the human-like screams coming from the tortured animal as the man took his time peeling its skin away.