Flanked Read online

  “Motherfuck,” Devin said from behind him. “I am not doing this shit.” He grabbed Flix’s elbow and wheeled him around in the opposite direction, then glared back toward the store. “We’ll get our shit somewhere else.”

  Joe blocked their path before they had taken three steps. He appreciated the sentiment, he really did, but they needed more cold-weather clothes before they got too far north where the winter would likely be more extreme than they’d ever experienced, and he had no way of telling how long it’d be until they came across another opportunity. The Kansas City biodome was still over 200 miles away. And that was only their halfway point to Minneapolis.

  “Do you see another place to stop? Because I don’t.” Joe moved closer to Flix, into his space because he needed to give the appearance that the Latino guys were separate from the white guy, but he addressed Devin. “Take your hand off Flix. We can’t afford to get turned away, and you touching a non-‘white’ person so familiarly could set one of these people off.”

  Devin let go of Flix and checked a timepiece he had snatched from the shed behind Navarro’s house. He slapped his forearm and glared at Joe. “This says it’s ninety degrees! Almost as warm as home. We don’t need to stop here.”

  “Yes, but it’s still winter. And the farther north we go, the colder it will be. Remember those nights we shivered in the dark?” Joe waited for Devin’s terse nod. “Exactly. We won’t know when it’s coming, papi. It’ll just suddenly be freezing, and we only have two jackets for the five of us. What if it snows?”

  Devin shook his head. “Snow is a myth.”

  Oh, for the love of God. “Snow is not a myth.”

  “Have you ever seen it?”

  “Just because I haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it’s not real! Peter...” Joe grabbed Peter, intent on dragging him into the conversation, until he remembered what he’d told Devin about touching Flix. Joe dropped his hand. “Tell Devin snow is real and the air will get colder in the north.”

  Peter looked between Joe and Devin and opened and closed his mouth a few times. Finally, he curved his hands in a downward semi-circle and said, “I lived in a dome. All climate-controlled, you know? Some friends of mine used to go skiing, and I think you need snow for that, so, yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s real.”

  “Joe’s right,” Flix said. “Snow is real.”

  Joe gaped at him. He couldn’t help it. Flix hadn’t spoken since Marcus died. For the first time since the drone dropped the bomb on the bonfire, a tiny fleck of hope flared in Joe’s chest.

  “Look,” Flix said, his voice rusty with disuse. “Let’s not arouse any suspicions. Get our stuff. Get out. I don’t care what a bunch of...of...”

  “Racists,” Aria snapped. “Racists. And I agree with Blondie. We take our business elsewhere.”

  Peter opened his mouth, but Joe cut him off with a low growl. “This is not a democracy. Devin and I make the decisions. The rest of you do what we say.”

  Aria put her hands to her hips and jammed her face right in front of Joe’s, her lips twisted and her eyes narrowed. Always pushing.

  Joe grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled her close, then spoke against her cheek. “My only responsibility is to keep everyone safe. Let me do my job. You start shouting ‘racist,’ you’re going to get us all killed.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Joe caught Flix whispering to Devin. Then Flix grabbed Aria’s hand and jerked her away from Joe. He nodded to a field of tents behind the building. “Let’s go have a look.”

  Aria put up a cursory struggle but stumped along behind Flix. A few of the store’s patrons stood on the front porch, watching, and a man came out of the store and rested his hand on a gun holstered at his waist.

  Joe slumped his shoulders and dropped his gaze to Devin’s stomach. “I need your help. We have to get supplies to keep everyone safe, and I’m not allowed. I need you to take care of this.”

  “Okay.” Reluctant. Unsure.

  “People are staring. Tell me loudly to go stand with the other servants. Call me Mexican. Treat me the way you did when we first met.” Joe was going for humor with that last sentence, but he chanced a glance up and found Devin’s face full of pain.

  “I love you,” Devin whispered. Then, strong and commanding, “Get your Mexican ass around back with my other servants, José.”

  Even though Joe had asked him to say it, needed him to say it, it still stung. His heritage used as a pejorative. The coldness in Devin’s voice. Being made small.

  Joe kept his shoulders rounded and his head down until he’d gone around to the back of the building. The moment he felt safe, he straightened, jutting his shoulders wide and straight, and raised his gaze.

  He found Flix and Aria stopped far enough from the tents to avoid invading anyone’s personal space. The tents created a makeshift city that reached the horizon, the same five or six styles of domed tents repeating over and over. A few Latino-looking kids raced between the tent stakes, but other than that, the town seemed empty.

  Aria pointed to the west, apparently continuing a conversation with Flix. “See the turbines over there?”

  Giant, slender gray towers topped with lazily spinning blades marched out of sight. They had to be at least as tall as New America’s border wall.

  “What are they for?” Flix asked.

  “Wind power. Electricity generation. But it’s way more than what’s needed for running this shithole. Must be a factory nearby. That’s where everyone is.”

  Flix snorted. “A tent factory.”

  Aria nodded. “That, too, though it’s probably been closed for years. My guess is biotech. It’s, um” — Aria rung her hands — “biotech uses biological processes to create or enhance lots of stuff: food, medicine, practically anything that uses organic materials. Organic means —”

  “I know what it means,” Flix said.

  “He’s not stupid,” Joe added. For the good of the group, he needed to do a better job being conciliatory — it was a positive sign that Flix and Aria were talking, something he should encourage — but he was too on edge, and Aria’s assumption that Flix wouldn’t know something pissed Joe off. “Devin and Peter went in. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Can I talk to you privately?” Aria asked.

  “Flix can hear whatever you have to say.”

  Aria glared at Joe. “I need a cup.”

  “We have cups.”

  “No, you idiot. I mean for my period.”

  “You should have told me that before Devin went inside.”

  “And let your white boyfriend buy my supplies? No, thanks. Anyway, there’s a non-white store here on the back side.” She jutted her chin toward the building, and Joe turned around to take a look.

  Two enormous, heavily armed guards stood at either side of an entrance to a weathered wood enclosure about the size of Joe’s room back at Flights of Fantasy. Past the open doorway, a few rows of merchandise-stacked shelves were visible. A small wooden sign over the left-side guard’s head read Poc Store.

  “So go buy one.”

  Aria cursed and stepped a bit closer to Joe. She was blushing. “I don’t have any money.”

  “You don’t have a money chip?” Flix asked. “I thought everyone had those.”

  “Yeah, well, Liliana and Navi took care of that stuff.” She stared at Flix, then Joe, probably waiting for the verbal slap Joe wanted to give her.

  Did she even remember how lucky she had been, having Lil and Navarro? What Joe would have given to have someone in his life who loved him enough to hide him, keep him safe, the way Lil and Navarro had done for Aria and Sadie. He swallowed what he wanted to say and headed toward the enclosure. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  One of the guards, a heavy-set white man with a row of gold teeth, stepped forward as they approached. “No weapons allowed.”

  Joe removed the rifle from his back. “How do I know this will be returned to me?”

  The guards looked at each other and lau
ghed. Gold Teeth pulled his own gun, some sleek metal monstrosity the length of Joe’s arm, and held it in front of him. “Son, the magazine on this baby holds two hundred rounds. How much does that antique you’re carrying hold? One? Two?”

  Joe shrugged, and the men laughed some more.

  “Here, kid,” said the other guard. He tapped a spot on his bulky forearm, and a projection of a keyboard spread out from there. Above it, a hologram screen hung suspended in the air. “Your old-fashioned toy has a serial number. We input that and your name, and then when you come out, we’ll check that they match up and give you back your weapon.”

  Joe didn’t have much choice. He couldn’t ask Flix to pay for Aria’s needs; he couldn’t leave Flix outside alone with the rifle because Flix wasn’t aware enough to keep himself safe; he couldn’t leave Aria outside alone with the rifle because she’d run off with it; and he couldn’t leave them out there together with the gun and without him because they might kill each other. He hated babysitting almost more than being laughed at.

  The serial number was easy enough to find on the stock. Joe memorized it, then handed the gun over and made sure the guard input the number correctly. He started forward, only for Mr. Bulky to step in front of him.

  “Son, how about the weapon in your pocket, or are you just happy to see the missus?” Bulky leered a bit at Aria.

  Joe wrapped his arm around Aria and drew her close, then leered back at the guard. “It has been a while.” He chuckled and motioned for the guard to step aside.

  Gold Teeth moved quickly, and before Joe could do anything, he was twisted around so his back pressed against the guard’s belly and a heavy arm crushed his ribs and pinned his arms to his sides.

  “I am not fucking around, son.” Gold Teeth jammed his hand into Joe’s pocket and withdrew the VICE-shot. “Now this is a much better weapon. Recent issue, too. You got anything else?”

  Joe shook his head and cursed his stupidity. He should have left the VICE-shot with Devin. Security guards would treat Devin’s pale skin with respect. Joe said, “Wait. I need to read the serial number.”

  Bulky laughed. “For what? You didn’t give us nothing else.”

  If Devin were in this situation, the security guards would treat his white skin with respect. Joe would never see the damned VICE-shot again. He could argue or struggle, but what good would that do in a place where he wasn’t even allowed to enter a building? He’d just end up dead or sold to someone like Boggs. Even Aria didn’t argue.

  Joe stood still while Gold Teeth patted him down efficiently. Even the obligatory grope of his balls was carried out with professional detachment. Joe couldn’t even appreciate the courtesy. If this was the way he’d be treated in New America, no wonder his dad had never come back for him. Who would want an embarrassment for a son?

  The guards patted down Flix and Aria before gesturing them into the store. On his way past, Gold Teeth stopped Joe with a hand to his shoulder. “Keep your nose clean, son.”

  Joe shook off the touch. “I’m no one’s son.”

  ***

  Devin sucked in a ragged breath that snapped a spike of pain across his already aching head and watched Joe’s back as Joe walked around to the rear of the building toward the tents. He struggled not to chase after him, not to crush him to his chest like a stuffed animal and whisper “I’m sorry” into his neck a million times over until the pain went away. How had he said such ugly things to Joe, even if it was for show? How many times here in New America would he have to do it again?

  “That was jagged, man.” Peter’s voice was equal parts awe and revulsion. “At home, they think plastic boys are soft, but you —”

  “Fuck off, Petey. Let’s get our shit and get out of here.”

  Devin made it to the porch before he remembered he had no idea how the damned store worked. He’d never been shopping. That restaurant last week was only the second time he’d ever paid for anything. Did you pay an item at a time? Gather everything up and then pay? Pay first? Joe would know. Hell, Flix probably knew. The old resentment toward Tanner flared. Those long years of isolation may have kept Devin safe, but they’d also robbed him of so many experiences.

  He didn’t want to admit his ignorance to Peter, so he barreled into the store and started pulling items off the shelves. Backpacks. Insta-food bars. Two more collapsible water jugs and two spare filters. Two solar-powered flashlights. Three pairs of vision shields so they’d have five total. Bullets. A candle for Flix. At some point, Peter left and reappeared with a metal cart on wheels that wobbled and squeaked. Devin dumped their crap into it and kept going. Toothbrushes and toothpaste. Oh, fuck yes. His mouth tasted like dust and vomit and his teeth were probably growing mold. Deodorant. Condoms? Condoms. Joe had explained their purpose, and even if the two of them didn’t need any, the other kids might if they met someone on their travels. Medicines, Navarro had given them. Cleanser. He stank. They all did. He put two family-size bottles of Mrs. Smith’s Showerless Shine into the cart, then went back for a third.

  “Hey, Dev,” Peter said, “you might want to pace yourself. This stuff adds up, and that price is three times what my mom paid for Mrs. Smith’s the last time I went to the store with her.”

  An image of Peter shopping with a mother popped into Devin’s brain. Devin didn’t remember his own mother. Joe barely remembered his. Flix, same thing. But Peter had lived with his; loved her, probably. Been loved by her.

  Devin laid his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I have money. Let’s go pick you out a coat.”

  Coats. Hats. Gloves. A new pair of shoes for Flix because Devin couldn’t stand one more day of seeing Flix’s toe sticking out of his worn-out, too-small shoes. Three top-of-the-line Deep Thaw sleeping bags.

  There. That was everything. Now, to pay. In his mom’s vintage romance novels, when characters had gone to the store, there’d been cashiers and talk of ringing things up, but here he didn’t see any bells or belts or pulleys or even any people who looked like they could “ring things up.”

  “Let’s put everything in the backpacks.” Peter eased one pack from the bottom of the cart, unfastened it, and began piling in their stuff. “It’ll make it easier to carry out.”

  Devin glanced around the store. “But how do we pay?”

  Peter squinted at him. “We walk out. It takes the money from your account.”

  “What does? And how does it know how much to take? And how do I know it took the right amount?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just a kid. My mom did all this buying-things business. But sometimes I’d go down to the Maze-On by our house for candy, and I’d just walk out after I got it. My mom said I should get the receipt in the door, but I never did.”

  Devin hesitated. “That sounds an awful lot like stealing.”

  Peter rolled his eyes and slapped at Devin’s wrist where his money chip was implanted. “Why is Joe so much smarter than you? It’s not stealing. Momma would’ve never let me steal.” A haze clouded Peter’s eyes for a moment, hiding the brightness of the green. “There’s probably a sensor in the doorway that subtracts it from your account.”

  “You don’t have to be a dickhead,” Devin said, unable to muster any bite behind the words. The trading of real items for some imaginary numbers hidden in his wrist. What a fucked-up world. “Let’s get out of here so we can get moving again.”

  They finished piling all the supplies in the backpacks. Devin slung both of them over his shoulders, and they walked out the door.

  Fast footsteps followed, and Devin grabbed for his rifle.

  “Hey, hey there,” a man said, holding up his hands. He had hair on his face and greed in his eyes. “I just wanted to offer you a special deal, Mr. Goodknight.”

  Who? Devin knew he had to be making a weird face, but he had no clue what this guy was talking about.

  The man frowned. “You are” — he checked a small screen embedded in his arm — “Jonathon Devin Goodknight, eighteen, son of Beryl and Holling De
tweiler-Goodknight, lately of the Texas Territory? Grandson of Barbara and Jameson Carnegie-Goodknight of Pittsburgh?”

  One time, out in the shed behind Lil’s, Devin had read shit from the Bible, trying to figure out why the religion stuff was so important to Joe. This man made about as much sense as that book. Devin, eighteen, son, and Texas, he understood. Goodknight rang some faraway memory Devin couldn’t place. The rest? Nothing. But his heart had started pounding, and he wasn’t sure he was breathing. Was all the rest of that stuff people? His people?

  “Who wants to know?” Peter asked, and for once, Devin was grateful for the kid’s snotty, condescending voice.

  The man smiled one of those fake smiles like Boggs used to. “My name is Viking. I manage this Maze-On outpost, and I wanted to make sure Mr. Goodknight was aware of the special items available to our preferred clientele.” He inclined his head meaningfully toward Devin and whispered, “Back room, top shelf.”

  Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s probably prostitutes, and we’re all stocked up. C’mon, Dev.”

  “Wait here, Petey. I’ll be quick.”

  Devin followed the man back into the store, his mind spinning. He didn’t care about any back room; he needed space to think. Jonathon Devin Goodknight. J. Devin Goodknight. Goodknight. Those were all him? And his parents? He grabbed the manager’s arm. “My parents. I, um, I call them mom and dad. Beryl and...”

  “Holling, yes. It’s funny isn’t it, how we don’t see our parents as real people?”

  Devin pretended to laugh.

  The manager pushed through a curtain and into a darkened room. Small lights illuminated shelves of merchandise, and off to the side were two dimly lit rooms, both with a floor-to-ceiling glass wall so Devin could see right inside. In each of those rooms, a naked woman lounged on a bed.

  “As you can see,” the manager said, “we have limited quantities of the most desired products. We’re not as fancy as one of our flagship stores, but we get by. Is there anything in particular you are interested in? We have lovely companions.”

  The women must have been able to hear through the glass, because the closer one, a blond with hair that hung past her hips, smiled like a doll, blank and dead, and thrust her hips in Devin’s direction. Her hands covered her chest. She squeezed her hands together before dropping them away, revealing heavy breasts and enormous, swollen purple nipples.