Newt Run

  Morning; Hazel; mine

  A dull, scratchin sound wrenches me from sleep and inta the pain of a hangover. I groan, and curl inta a tight ball; my head aches, and my body, and the thin light from the window is like sand in my eyes.

  I roll over and drag the blanket with me, hopin I can ignore the sound or that it'll go away, but I can't and it doesn't. Whatever it is just keeps scratchin away and scratchin away and in the end I haul myself off the mattress and pad unsteadily down the hall. The sound is comin from the wooden panel that serves as a step ta the kitchen. Why the apartment was built with a foot a'space under the kitchen floor I have no idea, but that's likely the reason I'm a drug dealer and not an architect. The sound is softer now, and I figure it must be a gust a'wind or a broken pipe, or any a'the hundred other things that can go wrong in a badly constructed apartment, but when I slide back the panel I discover a ferret lyin about a foot back from the openin, huddled in the dark. Its fur is matted, and very wet, as if it just crawled out of a drain or it's been up all night sweatin in fear. Its hind legs are both broken, the pale bones showin through raw patches in its fur. It looks about an inch away from death.

  I close the panel and take a pair a'rubber gloves from the kitchen, as well as some tongs, and an old, cardboard box I find buried in the back a'the closet. Once I'm done I wrench the panel open and reach inside. The ferret hisses and chirps, its small eyes nearly burstin from its head in fear. All at once it lunges at the tongs and I jerk back, but on the second try I'm just able ta get a hold a'its tail, and I drag it squealin inta the box.

  The thing stinks, a dank reek a'pits and fear and rotten meat. Quickly, I close the box lid and take it outside, doin my best ta keep it steady as I make my way past the tenements ta the river. This far north the bank is not much more'n an unkempt line a'scrubby grass and rocks. An abandoned shoppin cart lies on its side near the water, and further on are a few shelters a'plywood and blue tarp where the homeless have set up camp. The rocky, reed-choked ground is strewn with shards a'broken glass and garbage. Two crows loungin by the water's edge gaze at me with hard, glass eyes. I set the box down and throw a few stones at the birds until they take off in an indifferent flappin a'wings; I know there's no savin the ferret, but I'd like at least ta spare it bein pecked ta death.

  I open the box and tip it on its side. The ferret crawls off as quick as it can on its good legs, and burrows inta the knee-high grass by the river bank. For a moment I watch it lyin there, half-hidden, its small chest risin and fallin, and then I start back. My hangover begins ta reassert itself, a pain growin in the back a'my skull like someone gave it a once over with a rusty fork. I stop at the first coffee stand I pass, hopin the caffeine might help ta take the edge off. The boy workin the stall can't be older than 15. He's thin, with a curly mop a'black hair half-hidden beneath a woolen cap. Despite the cold, the sleeves a'his jacket are rolled up past his elbows, far enough ta see the veins standin on his taught, brown arms. The back a'his forearms are covered with a number a'faint, old scars, as if at one time he'd been a cutter or had ta defend himself from a knife.

  "Mornin," he says, swirlin the coffee around in the blackened pot.

  "Mornin. Coffee and toast."

  He nods and hands me a cup before settin a slice a'bread on the grill over the gas flame. When the toast is finished he gives it ta me on a paper plate with a rough mound a'butter on the side. He turns off the gas and sits down on the wooden bench behind the stand, watchin me eat.

  "It's good?" he asks.

  "Yeah it's good."

  "You live around here?"

  "Not far. Used ta live in that buildin there," I say, noddin at the tenement behind him.

  "I've seen you."

  I shrug, and wash down the toast with a mouthful a'coffee.

  "Listen," says the boy. "We don't know each other but I wonder if I can tell you somethin."

  "Alright."

  "It's about my dream. It's been on my mind you know? And it's been slow today. No one's come by."

  "Don't worry."

  "Ok," he says, takin a slow breath. "You know Park View?"

  The name a'the school produces a smile; I haven't thought about that place in years.

  "Friend a'mine went there," I say.

  "Yeah I went there when I was a kid," says the boy. "But in my dream it was different. Smaller, and when the bell rang at the end a'class it didn't sound right."

  "How'd it sound?"

  "Like it was broken, or like the recording was old or warped. Another thing was that I was the only one there. The place was empty, the field out back and the ball diamond, everythin empty and quiet, like everyone was dead. I don't know. Maybe it was just me who was dead."

  "Doesn't sound pleasant."

  "It wasn't, but anyway I started for home. I live in second block and normally I go down the alley ta get ta the buildin, but in the dream the mouth a'the alley was fenced off. I don't know why. They were doin construction or somethin and I had ta turn around and go back, and that was hard. I was tired. I don't know how you can be tired when you're asleep, but I was. My feet were heavy, like I'd been walkin through mud all day and had it caked all over my boots. I felt like sittin down on the curb and restin, but at the same time it was like I had ta get home, you know? Like it was the most important thing in the world."

  "Yeah I know that kind a'dream," I say.

  "So I went down ta the market, thinkin I'd get home that way, but standin in the middle a'the road was a table, a wooden picnic table, and sittin at the table was an imp."

  "An imp?"

  "You know, a little bastard, maybe two feet high, at most, and it was the ugliest thing I've ever seen. Bad ugly. Made me want ta puke just ta look at it. Its body was all wasted, with spindly arms and legs, but it had a big, bald head, with three hairs droopin from a mole on its chin. But the worst was its mouth, all wet and pink… I swear it looked like a pussy, but sideways, with another mole for the clit."

  "Dirty mind," I say.

  "Naw man," the boy replies, smilin. "Naw. I can have some dirty fuckin dreams, believe me, but it wasn't nothin like that. I never dream about weird shit like this."

  "So what happened?"

  "The imp had a crystal ball on the table, like it was a fortune teller, and it looks at me and says 'you want ta go home.' So I say yes, well done ya fuckin imp, that's exactly what I want, but it tells me that I can't. Says I've got no home. I wanted ta tell it ta fuck off, but I couldn't say nothin. My voice was stuck in my throat. All I could do was listen. Now it starts tellin me I can't get home because I haven't got one, because my home doesn't exist. It says the only thing that actually exists is the word, a word called home, and words don't mean nothin unless we believe in them."

  Somethin about his story has me on edge, but I tell myself it's just a part a'the hangover.

  "Fucked up," I say.

  "Yeah it sounded like the kind a'shit you come up with when you're high, you know?"

  "Yeah."

  "I asked him what he meant, but I didn't know if I'd gotten my voice back or if I was just thinkin in my head. Didn't seem ta matter ta the imp. 'What I mean is, this place doesn't exist,' it says. 'It's all a dream, so don't worry.' That should a'been reassurin, but for some reason I didn't like hearin it. Felt awful, almost like bein punched in the gut. Then the imp passes its wasted hand over the crystal ball and it tells me ta look. I didn't want ta, but it wasn't as if I had a choice. The ball pulled my eyes, and I started ta see things there, hundreds a'people, all a them swimmin around in some big pool. Then the picture got bigger and I saw that they weren't swimmin at all - they were drownin, all a'them, thrashin around and strugglin and pushin people under just ta keep their own heads up. Then it came ta me that what I was seein was both people drownin and people fuckin. The two things were happenin at once, like this huge orgy a'people drownin in a deep ocean, but like, forever. A shit awful orgy goin on forever."

  He shakes his head, tryin ta laugh, but I can tell tha
t he's upset.

  "Finally I looked away," he continues. "Back at the imp, which wasn't much better, and it tells me that the future is just the past all over again. Says it's just a movement a'bodies, one generation ta the next. Then it says there's somethin it wants me ta do, that I need ta deliver a message. 'Actually,' it says. 'There's two. Don't forget them.'"

  "And you forgot right?" I say.

  "Fuck no. This wasn't a dream you forget. The imp told me the first message was that it won't die in the dark, but the second is that he will. It said ta make sure I told him that. I asked who it meant, but the thing just smiled at me with that mouth a'his. And then I woke up."

  He pauses, maybe embarrassed that he's opened up ta a stranger, and I stare at him, feelin the press a'the wind like an icy hand on the back a'my neck.

  "Pretty crazy huh?" the boy asks.

  "Yeah," I say. "Crazy."

  I finish off what's left a'my coffee. By now it's cold, and tasteless, and I throw the cup onta the pile by the stand.

  "How much do I owe you?" I mutter.

  "Three."

  I hand him the cash, and get up.

  "Thanks again," he says.

  "Yeah."

  It won't die in the dark, but I will. Not much of a prophecy ta wake up ta. Still, there's no sense arguin the point. As Auld would no doubt tell me, the future's already written.

  "Where were you?" J asks as I pull up ta the apartment.

  "Had some coffee."

  "Coffee."

  "That's right."

  "Alright." He motions ta the door. "We're goin in?"

  I shake my head.

  "We need ta get goin."

  "Thought I'd eat somethin."

  "We'll pick somethin up later."

  J shrugs, feignin indifference, and follows me onta the street.

  "What happened with that girl the other night?" he asks, after a time.

  "Who?"

  "The blonde you were talkin with at the bar."

  "Hazel."

  He takes a pack a'hand-rolleds from his jacket and offers me one, helpin ta shield the flame with his hands as I get it lit. The day's grown bitter cold, and a heavy bank a'clouds has rolled in, killin the sun.

  "She was pretty alright," says J, lightin his own smoke. "Some a'her friends too. Tam was too shit-faced ta do much about it, but you seemed ta have yourself sorted quickly."

  "Nothin happened," I tell him.

  "No?"

  "We talked."

  "Talked."

  "That's right."

  "What do you have ta talk ta a girl like that about?"

  "She's from the capital."

  "Exactly my point."

  "What are you tryin ta say, that I don't have the ability or cultural wherewithal ta amuse a capital city girl?"

  "That's exactly what I'm sayin."

  "Very kind."

  "What's she doin here anyway?"

  "Runnin from the trouble, like everyone else. Said she's studyin at NRU. Micro-biology, I think it was."

  "Micro-biology."

  "Think so."

  "You tell her what you do?"

  "Didn't come up."

  "Guess it didn't."

  "Not that dealin powder's exactly illegal."

  "That's not all we deal."

  "No, it's not."

  "Still, at least with the other shit you know who you're sellin ta, and why they're buyin. With powder..." He clears his throat, and then, as if ta take back what he said, he shrugs and looks away.

  "Tam mention anythin last night?" I ask.

  "He just makes a hand-off in the capital the same as us. He likes actin big, always has, but when it comes down ta it he's just as ignorant as we are."

  "Can't expect much from ignorant folk can you?"

  "You can't. Tried ta tell me he's movin up though, gettin closer ta whoever's buyin the stuff out there."

  "Well that doesn't mean anythin. Tam always was impressionable."

  "Impressionable," J laughs. "That's the word."

  "Can't rely on someone like that for answers."

  "Too impressionable," says J, smilin.

  It's too bad that J wasn't able ta get anythin more out a'Tam; I don't enjoy workin like this, dealin through him in the capital without knowin who's buyin, or why. The only thing we know for sure, with the weight they're askin for, is that they can't be the same type a'people we sell ta here, college kids mostly, and miners. Two kilos every second week is a lot a'powder just ta satisfy the weekend party crowd.

  "Anyway you should see what's up with that girl," J goes on. "But you'll just walk away as usual. You just can't be bothered, that's your problem."

  I don't bother sayin anythin ta that, and the two of us continue in silence. Besides, J's probably right; after Auld left the bar, it wasn't long before Hazel made her own excuses, tellin me that she had ta get up in the mornin. I asked if she wanted me ta walk with her, and at first she hesitated, but in the end goin with me must've seemed less threatenin than walkin alone; Northside's got a bad reputation, one that stretches all the way ta the capital, and the way things stood I didn't mind takin advantage a'that fact. I went with her as she said goodbye ta her friends, and we both left the bar.

  "You don't have to walk me the whole way," she said. Maybe she was tryin ta be nice, but it's just as likely she was havin second thoughts about walkin with me.

  "I don't mind," I said, doin my best ta keep my voice neutral.

  "No, I mean, I'm going to take the bus."

  "You want number 41 then, from Nascent. Come on."

  I led her ta the park, plannin ta cut through from there and get at Nascent without havin ta bother with the small lanes around Markus Avenue. A pair a'lamp posts burnt a white haze in the night, sketchin the outlines a'the ball diamond and the row a'bleachers behind it, as well as the few scant trees.

  "How late do the buses run?" she asked me.

  "Nascent goes all night."

  "Then let's sit down a minute," she said, and turned in the direction a'the bleachers. I didn't ask any questions. If she wanted ta sit out in the cold I wasn't gonna argue. The fact was I had nothin better ta do.

  She climbed all the way ta the top and sat down, and it was lucky we were both a little drunk, or else neither a'us would've been able ta sit there for long; it had grown deadly cold, and as we talked I watched her breath emerge in small puffs a'steam. A line a'blonde hair fell from her forehead, shadin her eye.

  "How long have you been taking it?" she asked.

  "The powder?"

  "Yes."

  I looked away. There was a moment's irritation. I felt stupid, sittin in the cold and actin like a kid on a date. I asked her for a smoke. She pulled out her pack and handed one to me, along with the lighter.

  "Maybe I shouldn't have asked."

  "No," I said. "It's fine. He just told me I shouldn't talk about it. Said it'd make things more complicated if I did."

  "Who? Auld?"

  "Yeah. It's not like I have any idea what that boy is, you understand? But I've never known him ta be off, makin predictions. Seemed best ta listen."

  "He never said anything like that to me."

  "Well he's not an easy one ta read."

  "But you do know what he is right?" she asked, like I was simple. I smiled, and I blew a cloud a'smoke inta the air.

  "I know he's not from around here," I said.

  She laughed, but it sounded forced, and it suddenly occurred ta me that there was a lot more goin on in her head than she was lettin on, thoughts that had as little ta do with Auld as they did with sittin in an empty park with me.

  "Not from around here? He's not from this universe."

  "So they say," I answered, and was prepared ta leave it at that, but the way she was lookin at me demanded somethin more. I sighed, and carried on.

  "Just seems ta me that's not a productive way a'lookin at things. There's people livin in this world that I'm never gonna lay eyes on, but I'm supposed ta feel conn
ected ta them? A kid gets his head blown off in a war somewhere and it's supposed ta make a difference ta me because we share a planet, and maybe ta some people it does, what do I know? But Auld's here now, and to me that's what matters. He's an alright guy, never done wrong by me. So what if he's some kind a'alien, or whatever they are. At least that's how it looks ta me, ignorant Northsider as I am."

  She looked away, but I caught the hint of a smile: maybe she'd never heard such piss in all her life. Could be she hadn't. I don't normally go in for long speeches, tendin ta keep my monologues in my head where they belong, but I had ta hand it ta the girl – she wound me up, and I found myself wantin ta impress her, or at least ta demonstrate that I was capable a'thought.

  "How long you been usin?" I asked, after a time.

  "About a month," she said.

  "What's a girl like you take powder for?"

  "A girl like me?"

  I shrugged, and she laughed, more fully this time.

  "Where do you even find the stuff?" I tried instead.

  "Friend of mine knows a guy."

  "There a lot a'outsiders walkin round the capital?"

  "A few, but I've only talked to Auld. Met him a couple weeks ago. Said he was there on business, whatever that meant. I have no idea."

  "Didn't even know he'd gone."

  She blew on her hands; her fingers had gone pink with cold.

  "Many people usin there?"

  "Not many. It's pretty rare to find any powder. Most of it goes to the Institute."

  "Heard that, yeah."

  "You know some people blame them for the trouble?"

  "The Institute?"

  "No, I mean, people like Auld. The outsiders. They say they're the cause of it. But I don't see how. There aren't enough of them, and they don't seem to do anything. They just kind of... sit around. Even when you know they're there, it's hard to see how it makes a difference."

  "Yeah."

  She nodded, but again, it was a gesture meant more for herself than me.

  "Come on," she said, standin up. "Let's get out of here. I'm cold."

  We left the bleachers and crossed the frozen diamond ta the edge a'the park. I saw her ta the bus stop and while we waited I asked her for her number, more out of a sense a'obligation than anythin else. Seemed like the thing a normal guy would do, but I felt hollow askin, and when she told me that she didn't have a phone in town yet, it came as a kind a'relief.

  "You go to that bar often?" she asked, maybe thinkin that I needed the consolation.

  "Sometimes."

  "Maybe we'll see each other."

  "Yeah maybe."

  The bus arrived. She got on and sat down in the back, her head and slim shoulders just visible over the window ledge. I thought she'd look back when the bus pulled away from the curb, but she didn't and I guess it was just as well. Now, if I tried ta explain any a'this ta J, he'd just laugh and tell me I'd blown my chance, but the thing is it never felt like I had a chance, and I'm not sure that I wanted one.

  "Little fuckers," J mutters, drawin me back. I follow his line a'sight ta a group a'kids loungin behind 20 block. One a'them has his dick out, pissin inta the snow without even botherin ta turn and face the wall. His friends are laughin, all a'them more'n likely high.

  We enter the tenement through the rear door. The air is thick with the smell a'pan-fried food and burnt electrical wire. The hall is deeply shaded, the only light comin from the pair a'naked bulbs sputterin on and off at the far end. The mint-green walls are covered with tags and other graf work, and there's a wide, brown stain on the carpet, as if someone had been stabbed and left ta bleed out. Or maybe someone just spilled a pot a'soup.

  "Been awhile," I remark.

  "Shit," answers J. "Sometimes feels like I never left. You remember the last time we were down here?"

  "Yeah," I say, and leave it at that, makin my way down the low flight a'stairs ta the basement; I never told him that I came here without him, and there's no need ta bring it up now.

  Approachin the heavy, iron door at the foot a'the stairs, J takes out his bolt cutters. He strains against the lock, his big face flushed with effort, until at last it snaps in half and clatters ta the ground. Enterin the far room is like steppin inta a black hole. There is nowhere to look and nothin ta see, and the air is heavy with the tang a'metal. Switchin on the flashlight, I shine the beam around the room: the floor is damp, and long, wet strands a'greenish algae or mould line the walls. In the far corner is the busted furnace. J slips around me ta disappear behind it.

  "Well it's still here," he says. "Shit, it looks small."

  I move ta stand next ta him; the hole is right where it should be, and he's right about how small it looks.

  "Not sure I'm gonna fit anymore," J mutters, but I bang my fist against the rotten plaster around the hole, crumblin it easily.

  J doesn't look happy, and I can't blame him. The last thing I need is ta get back inta this habit, but if we want ta keep sellin powder I don't see how we have a choice. I push through the hole and down the short tunnel ta the chamber on the far side. I straighten up, suckin back on the cool, dark air a'the mines, and sweep the light across the dusty floor. Everythin is the same as I remember it, the rock walls and the steel beams reinforcin the ceilin, and the door in the far wall that leads ta the tunnels.

  J emerges from the hole behind me, takin it all in with a sour look on his face.

  "Hasn't changed," he says.

  "No."

  "So we just get Tam ta leave the package here and we pay him when we see him yeah?"

  "He doesn't have time ta come out this far."

  "So?"

  "So we'll have ta go deeper."

  J shakes his head.

  "Very nice. I'm startin ta think it was better when we were simple drug dealers."

  "Yeah?" I say, shinin the light in his face. He blinks and holds a hand up ta shield his eyes. "You can go back ta that if you want. You don't have ta come down here. I'll make the drop-offs on my own."

  "Really?" he asks, brightenin.

  "Yeah asshole, and I'll handle the money as well."

  "So maybe we split the work," he relents.

  "Yeah maybe," I say, movin back ta the hole. "Let's go. I'm hungry."

  "First thing you've said today that's made any sense."