The Law and the Codas

Chapter Seventeen

"If I hear him complain about shit one more time, I'm lodging my boot up his ass!"

"Now, now," I say. Keran huffs ahead of me, her gaze honed on Sam who wades through brown sludge with the biggest frown on his face. "That looks like a pretty nice pair of boots, I'd hate to see you lose one of them out of anger."

Keran whips her head around so fast the air cracks with electricity. She hisses, mouth snarling.

"She wouldn't lose it permanently," David says from my left. "It'd eventually make its way through Sam's system. Though can you imagine the damage?" He wrinkles his nose and as he does, his fingers graze the flesh of my forearm sending a tingle of warmth through my body.

Keran snaps at him. "You useless-"

"Ugh," I say, cutting her off, much the way I do with Marava. Keran reverts to her arsenal of snarls and scowls. Her indignance might have been cute had it not been for the gun present in her hand. "Half-digested leather and the smell? Keran," she growls at my use of her name. "It's not worth it. Don't send your boot to such a grisly end--"

"Shut," she stomps toward me, her steps flinging sewage my way. Splatters of brown stain my pant legs. Putrid, humid air shoves itself into my nose. "Up," Keran finishes, hefting her gun so the barrel touches the tip of my nose.

I slap the gun out of my face as though it were a toy. "I told you before," the jovial tone in my voice is replaced by one I hope shows cool determination. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect them. Even if it means protecting one of their ass holes from your boot."

Keran shoves the gun back in its holster, raises her arms, and screams. It echoes down the narrow tunnel. "For fuck sake, Della," she yells. "Let me shoot her!"

Della's answer is little more than an echo, from further in the tunnel. The Commander had taken it upon herself to be a scout, in case the Militia roamed the tunnels. "We need one-zero," comes Della's reply.

Keran howls and whips around. When she does, that high ponytail of hers hits my forehead. Brown water sloshes around her ankles and up her calves, spraying the other Codases as she plows past them.

"She's probably going on ahead to find Della, complain in person," David says.

I shrug. "Does that work? Complaining in person? I find well-worded written complaints always get you farther."

David gives me a sideways glance and the corner of his lip curls into a grin. "And you know this from experience?"

I nod. "Of course. Wrote hundreds of them." I clear my throat. "'Dear Councilmen of the FUA, mind not making us prisoners in our home? The food, if you can even call M.E.A.T.s food, is disgusting. It's somehow soft enough to disintegrate on the tongue, yet has enough staying power to cement your teeth together. They taste how I imagine a sweat-soaked bed would taste after it's been doused in gasoline and burnt to a crisp.'"

"'Dear The Law,'" Jonathan says. We all look at him, while we continue to wade through the river of brown muck with chunks of something bobbing up and down. "'Can you please stop measuring our piss and shits? Some of us have trouble pissing in those plastic cups--'" In unison, we all turn to Sam, who's face flushes bright pink.

"It's funny how even though the Militia is looking for us," Rima says, giving the metal tube above us a quick glance, "we still revert to talking like we used to in the Facility's halls."

David leans in toward me, his breath hot against my neck. "Is it how it used to be?" He gropes for my hand, and even though it's the one in bandages, he intertwines his fingers with my own, careful not to cause discomfort.

"I've heard the low-levs talk," Mars says as she pulls Jonathan into her. I must have been standing in his space far more than she was okay with. "Some babies get sent here. Unwanteds, Curseds. You know, the defective ones."

In the silence she's caused, Marava takes the time to flip her hair, as though baby murder talk was as casual a conversation topic as the weather. "Even if they're healthy, some families meet the quota, and then accidents happen."

"Accidents only happen when they're not taking their prescripts," David says.

Marava narrows her gaze. "I know." She runs a long nail over her cheek and down her neck. "Not everyone's blessed with their own Dispensary station though. Some communal ones, especially in the lower Sects, end up broken for days at a time. Could chalk up about 45% of unwanted births to Aviary mismanagement, but they'd be idiots to admit their folly. And besides, people forget. Shit happens."

There's another moment of solemn silence, as we all watch the bag float out of sight, and then, Sam bursts into laughter. "Shi-shi-shit," he struggles to speak between bouts of hysteria. Tears form at the corner of his eyes.

Marava scowls. "What's el idiota going on about?"

Jonathan grins which seem to agitate Marava more. She stomps on ahead.

"Shit happens," Sam finally manages. Rima whaps him on the shoulder, while a smile settles onto her face.

Jonathan chuckles. "Poor Novia." He stares at her back, not at her hips though she's decidedly swaying them more than the situation calls for. "She's still awkward as ever."

"Shit happens," Sam says again. He stomps his foot in the sewer water and something, apple-sized, near black in color, bobs to the surface.

I make it a point not to notice it more than I already have and return my attention to Jonathan. "She had to know her words would set off Sam. I mean," I point to the water, "Shit happens."

He pats my shoulder. "I think she did."

I raise an eyebrow. "So she said it because?"

"Because she felt the tension her words had spurred. So, feeling bad, she--"

I put a hand up. "Feeling bad?" I shake my head. "She's a lot of things, but I doubt she's ever felt bad for anyone else in her life."

Jonathan chuckles. "It took me a long time to understand her," he leans in toward me. "Then again, it took me a long time to understand you."

I flinch. "You did not mean to compare her to me right now--"

"Think what you want," he picks up his pace as Marava's silhouette grows small. "About me," he corrects. "But don't misunderstand her. She only ever cracks puns for the benefits of others."

When our group turns the corner, the last of Sam's laughter is stolen from his lips. I halt, without needing someone to command me into doing so. Keran stands below a grate, artificial moonlight dappling the skin along her arms and face. Her expression is one of horror and the sharp lines created by the play of light and shadow only seem to etch that terror into her further.

At first, it looks like she's being pelted by rain. Aviaries occasionally scheduled rain, to help with Sect morale or to clean the streets when the Sanitation department was stretched too thin. It'd make sense if it'd been rain. But, on closer inspection, what's splattering Keran's face, what's running down her cheeks in droves and soaking her civilian t-shirt isn't clear liquid. It's colored a deep crimson and is accompanied by an outpouring of shrill screams and gunfire.

Rima whispers, "Oh, god."

I reach for her, take her quaking hand in my own. Gods were what the Law members were supposed to be, what we'd been trained to be, but I had no idea what to do, what words I could spew, what lies to weave to alleviate Rima's worry, or the sudden feeling constricting my chest.

"In every moment of your waking day, you are to be whatever the citizens of the FUA need you to be," Mistress Anthony had taught us, but right now, I couldn't find it in me to obey. All I could do was watch on as blood rained down from above.