Gods Under The Dome

15.1

《Fallout》

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Dressed in the grey of all sector security and police, a Chip Port guard descends the steps from the glass control room to assess the crowd bulging around the metallic gateway. The absence of sound is notable - children, men, women, all smudged from that day's work cleaning the Homestead - stand stock sill, waiting with bated breaths as they eye four platforms on either side of the road. Dove Militia stalk these upper tiers, Accuracy Assists turned on, the red dots of their sights trained on the masses. Fingers, hungry and eager, waver above the triggers, ready to dole out punishment for any perceived affront. 

"All they had to do was sit and wait and eventually we'd bring ourselves to them." Slumped over, Tujo blows out his breath from the back seat. His eyes wander miserably over his hands, and the electric blue cuffs snug against his wrists. "We're real idiots."

"Says the king."

When Marava flaps her gums, it never made the situation better, and this little jab at Tujo was no different.

 Tujo, however, responds in true, oblivious fashion. "Well, if I'm king," he puffs out his chest unduly, despite being sandwiched between Marava and Lilly, "I must really know what I'm talking about."

Marava snorts. "All bluster and no brains." She flips her hair over her shoulder, and raises her chin so she's looking down on Tujo from atop her high horse. Wherever Marava calls home, the air up that high must be pretty fucking thin. 

As I pull up to the Chip Port section that's been isolated for land-traveling vehicles, I notice that our sputtering, half-dead van seems to have caught the attention of the overhead Militia. Though the port's floodlights bathe us in clinical white, the electric blue haze, created from so many bodies huddled together with Accuracy Assist on, is all I pay attention to. Right now, any one of them could see past the blinding light and through the windshield. They could glimpse the pulsing of my veins, the sweat as it gathers on my forehead, and just as easily, fire a bullet into my skull. 

I let out a sharp breath, ease toward the red 'x' spray painted on the road, cut the engine once the front tires roll over it. "You ready?"

Tujo grimaces, and hefts his arms in front of Marava's face. She bristles, the skin between her eyebrows wrinkling as her eyes narrow in disdain. "You could have made these a little looser, Miss Perez." The last part of the sentence makes Marava's left eye twitch. Tujo grins and the light captured in that smile is enough to make the floodlights look like spent candles. 

I shake my head. What an idiot.

When I think Marava's about to lash out at him - scrape her nails down his face, gouge his eyes out - she instead, returns a smile causing Tujo to flinch. Marava keeps at it, grinning calmly, kindly, projecting all the things she is not. 

 Tujo's not such an idiot that he can't sense the menace in her posture - the straight back, stiff shoulders, jutted chin.  - poring off her in waves. His Adam's apple bobs and the first trickle of sweat runs down his cheek. "Had to make them tight," she says, a sugary-sweet tone slathering her words, and like one too many candied jellies, it's enough to make me sick. "Had to look authentic."

Tujo's eyes dart to his lap. Rubbing his hands together, he manages, "Ri-ri's don't look as tight." The jingle of metal rings out as his cuffs clank together. Tujo pouts. 

Marava pats him on the shoulder. "Must have been a little oversight." Her nails dig into his flesh. "I guess I'll be more careful next time." Leaning in, she brushes a blond ringlet away from Tujo's ear. His face erupts into a blaze of embarrassment. "You should also try to be more careful with what you call me."