Will McIntosh - Defenders

“Maybe,” Five said.

June 29, 2029 (nine months earlier). Washington, D.C.

Kai knew better than to look up at the old man behind the counter to see if he was watching. That was a dead giveaway. Instead, Kai tracked him through the reflection in the refrigerated display case, which was no longer cold, because it was illegal to waste energy to keep drinks chilled. Not that anyone had the energy to spare on such a luxury anyway.

The old guy had an underbite that made him look vaguely apish; what gray hair he had was combed straight back in thin lines. He was watching Kai, frowning, suspicious. Kai knew he looked like a hungry kid who had no one taking care of him, but he couldn’t help it; he couldn’t find it in him to relax the scowl, to smile. This was also one time Kai’s size was probably a liability. Mom used to say he looked sixteen, not thirteen.

A wave of pain washed over him at the thought of his mom. Right now he didn’t even feel thirteen—he felt more like eight. He wanted his mommy, wanted her to rock him while he pressed his face against her long, soft hair. That’s all most kids wanted since the invasion began. There were no tough kids left, only scared kids. And desperate kids, like him.

The door to the convenience store creaked open; a chubby woman with a tattoo on her shoulder stepped in and went to the counter. Kai seized the opportunity, snaring three fat pieces of jerky and stuffing them under his jacket, pinning them under his left arm.

He rose, spent a moment looking at the drinks in the nearly empty case, most of them homemade, the corporate logos printed on the bottles partially covered with white handwritten labels. Hurrying was another dead giveaway.

He paused again on his way to the door, watched a news feed playing on the TV above the front counter for a moment.

It was war footage of half a dozen Luyten storming a power plant. You almost never saw so many in one place, in the open. They were guerrilla fighters; they lost some of their advantage when they clustered, so when they attacked in force it usually meant they’d identified a poorly defended target.

Kai was repulsed by the sight of them—giant starfish, faceless, silent. Two were flying in their weird formfitting six- and seven-pointed craft, while the rest were on the ground, galloping on three or four of their limbs, staying behind vehicles and trees for cover, their free arms firing lightning bursts from the skintight battle gear that looked like ornate brass embroidery. A couple of human soldiers were peppering them with machine gun fire, but the Luyten always had a second’s warning, always knew which way the soldiers were going to point the weapons. If the soldiers had larger weapons—flamethrowers or tanks—they’d have a chance. Then again, if they had larger weapons the Luyten would have known, and wouldn’t have attacked in the first place.

When he couldn’t stand to watch anymore, Kai headed toward the door.

The old guy moved from behind the counter with surprising speed, beating Kai to the door, brandishing a stun gun.

“I didn’t see it, but I know you’ve got something.” He waved the gun. “Open your jacket.”

Kai wanted to tell the man he had no right to search him just because he looked filthy and tired, but it was pointless to argue. He reached into his coat and pulled out the jerky.

The chubby woman with the rose tattoo tsked, shook her head. She’d moved over to watch.

“I’m a good kid. It’s just, my parents were killed when Richmond got overrun, and I don’t have anywhere to go.” In a shrill, childish whine he added, “I’m so hungry.”

The old guy plucked the jerky from Kai’s outstretched hand. “I don’t doubt what you’re saying. Times are hard.” He gestured toward the road with his chin. “Check with Refugee Services, see if they can give you some food.”

“Refugee Services is closed . It’s been closed since I got here. Please, let me have one?”

The man shook his head brusquely. “I can’t hand out food to everyone who’s hungry. I got almost nothing to sell as it is.” He gestured toward the door.

Kai looked out into the dark, frigid, rainy night. The rain ticked against the storefront window. It was turning to sleet. He turned back. “Can I at least stay in here to keep warm? I won’t take anything, I promise.”

The man looked pained. “I’m trying to run a store . It ain’t easy, you know. I let you stay, what about the next kid who wants to stay? Pretty soon I’ll have to close for good like the rest of them.”

Reluctantly, Kai pushed the door open, tucked his chin against the cold. Empty hands buried in his jacket pockets, he hurried down the street, weaving to find a path through the piles of trash, much of it electronics that didn’t work or took too much energy to operate. In the street vehicles whooshed silently past, but only occasionally, nothing like traffic had been before the invasion began.

He wasn’t sure where to go. He turned left at the end of the block to get off the main artery, passed mostly dark apartment buildings, eyeing the occasional warm yellow lights inside windows covered with security mesh. Kai longed to be in one of those apartments, in a warm bed, but none sported the green sash that indicated refugees were welcome. They were all full, or, more likely, the families inside were ignoring President Wood’s plea to open their homes to people fleeing the Luyten.

The problem was, there were a lot more refugees now. Before Richmond fell, refugees had poured into the city as the starfish seized more and more of the outlying areas, and Kai and his family had done what they could to help them, like they were supposed to. Kai had shared his clothes with the refugees who were his age, brought them along to hang out with him and his friends. He could still remember how proud his mom was, how she smiled whenever he did something nice for one of the scared, shrunken kids who came down the road pulling a suitcase. Now that Kai was a refugee, there were too many for that sort of kindness. Washington was packed with refugees.

It was so hard, getting used to each thing that was taken away. First, communication, when the Luyten took their satellites out. No way to speak to Grandma, or to Pauly, who’d been his best friend until last year. Then, as the Luyten choked off the routes between cities, no toothpaste, no food that arrived at the table ready to eat. Then the Luyten gained control of most of the solar and wind farms, the coal and nuclear plants, and there wasn’t enough power to heat the house, or the water, or to run his handheld.

Now he had no warm bed, no food to eat at all.

He was heading away from the makeshift shanty camp where he’d stayed the past three nights. The camp was too far to reach in the cold and dark; he’d walked too far, trying to find food.

His toes were already numb, his shoes soaked from puddles he couldn’t see.

He wished he had someone with him. Anyone. If he could pick one person who was still alive, it wouldn’t be one of the cool friends he’d started hanging out with in the past year; it would be Pauly, who he’d known forever. Scrawny, goofy Pauly, whom Kai had pretty much dropped, for no good reason. Mom had been disappointed in Kai when he ditched Pauly. She’d told him you don’t throw away friends.

What he wouldn’t give to have Pauly beside him. Kai wondered where Pauly was, what he was doing.

There was an old brick and concrete building ahead, three separate dark, open bays of what must have once been an auto body shop, or a fire station. The building must have been fifty years old. It had been a long time since things were built out of red brick.

The first bay was nothing but a concrete floor, providing shelter from the rain but little relief from the cold, gusty wind. There was a door sitting slightly ajar, up three concrete steps along the wall. Even if it was a tiny toilet room, it would be warmer, at least.