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in the time of chimpanzees, I was a monkey / butane in my veins I'm out to cut the junkie / with the plastic eyeballs, spraypaint the vegetables / dog food stalls, with the beefcake pantyhose / kill the headlights and put it in neutral / stock car flaming with a loser in the cruise control / baby's in Reno with a vitamin d / got a couple of couches, asleep on the love seat
* * *
* * *
The power runs on sunlight. Cypress told us that he wasn't used to using power indiscriminately like we do. But I prefer it dark. That's why I like guard duty. I can sit out under the stars for hours. It's just me and the sky. And strange as it sounds, I feel like I finally belong somewhere. All alone, under the stars. I fit.
I'm a soldier, first. So while the others are flipping through magazines or playing board games, I'm up at my perch. I call it
my
perch because this was my post. Sitting up here, on top of the roof access. For the first six years or so I sat up here alone, a pair of binoculars and a high-power rifle in my hands, peering out into the dark for signs of Men.
The wind is gentle tonight, and it's too hot out to keep my shirt on. I unclip the seven chunky black claspes and the white doublethick cotton slides off my shoulders, so I'm wearing only my tattered black knit sweater. Its ragged edges only come to the base of my ribcage, but that's too warm as well, and I pull it up to below my breasts.
I kick off my boots – and my belt – I consider removing my skirt, but I remind myself;
I am a soldier, first.
But I pull it up a few inches and let the cool wind air my thighs. I lay back on the mattress I always drag up here in the summers and let the breeze caress me, closing my eyes and thinking of his.
But he casts those eyes to Michelle as easily as he does me.
All the things I lack are present in Michelle. She is a natural leader. She is calm. Practical. Self-sacrificing And she has the good of us all at heart.
Things I'll never be.
I spent my first thirteen years almost entirely in solitary. Your priorities are based on your situation.
I sit up and hold the binoculars to my eyes, scanning the west for movement. Nothing. I grab my belt and remove a cigarette, lighting it before falling back down on the mattress.
The roof access door moans open beneath me, and I quickly shrug into my cotton shirt.
"Any movement?"
"Long time no see, stranger. How're the fans working?"
"It's no good when they're all blowing hot air back at you. You got any more of those?"
"C'mon up, I'll give you one."
"Cool."
He jumps onto the iron ladder and quickly lands beside me, dropping to his knees and crossing his legs as he sits.
As promised, I produce a smoke for him and he lights it, smiling contently at the dark city. Even though it's pitch dark, I swear I can still make out the blue.
"Why do you come up here?" he asks.
I tell him. This was my home. Is my home, maybe.
"I spent more time with these stars than anyone in this tower," I tell him. "I earned my name up here."
"How's that?"
"We call this the Crow's Nest."
"Huh. Y'know, I never thought of that." I shrug and lay back to stare up at the stars.
"Don't know why not – it's pretty obvious."
"We got he night off," he says. "Why are you pulling guard duty?"
"I'm not. I just come here some nights."
"Then why the binoculars and rifle?"
"I just come here, but I might as well do a job while I'm at it." It takes him a second to think of what to say to that.
"We're moving up the River Project," he says. "Start scavanging next week."
Cypress has spent almost every day for the past two weeks locked in the security room with Phoebe. He hasn't spoken a word about any progress they're making, except to Michelle and Lisa. He takes his orders as a Tower member seriously.
Which is why I'm suspicious he just brings it up.
"That's good," I say. "Why do you mention it?"
"Do you want to know about it?" he asks. "I don't want you to tell anyone, but there's some stuff I want you to know."
"Like what?" He pauses and takes a long drag before continuing.
"It looks like we won't be going straight south to the river. Going south and east – all the way to the Forks."
"What? The Forks is like, three times as far. That's stupid, it-"
"It's got the infrastructure that can handle this kind of power transfer, and two rivers right there."
"Oh… okay." He pauses a long while before speaking again. I can tell he's fighting telling me.
"It was always planned that if Westwood went down, we would recolate to the Forks temporarily. We've always got someone on a long-term post there, who's to return immediately if there's any unusual girl activity. Inside the Forks buildings we've got stores of food, weapons, ammo, everything.
As soon as the Tower starts moving people in there to set things up, Westwood will know."
"What if we block off his exits?" I ask quickly. My mind goes into tactical mode. Cypress only shakes his head.
"When the guards change post, they travel silently through a known run on foot. But if there's ever something important to report, they're allowed to use a Dukati motorbike we have stored out there for emergies, and they're all trained for it.
That thing hits two hundred klicks easy. Nothing's gonna' catch it." I nod.
"This destroys everything," I say. He doesn't answer, he just taps his cigarette and looks up at the stars. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Do you know what it's like," he says, "to know you have a duty to your job, to be a soldier for the Tower, but you knew it was just wrong? And by serving the Tower, you betrayed a higher authority?"
I think about that for a while.
"No," I say. "Not yet." He sighs.
"Yeah, I didn't think so," he says.
"So what's bugging you, then?" I ask. He holds out his hand and I stick another cigarette in it, and he chains it off the first before continuing.
"Well… if that guard never saw us coming. If he was… neutralized before he was able to get to that bike…"
"But that would be near-impossible, because no one here knows the patterns of someone guarding the Forks. Those guards probably know the Forks better than anyone."
Cypress nods.
"Unless… someone here
does
know how to take out that guard," I say.
Cypress nods.
"And there's no way you would tell me this, unless I was going to be in the first wave."
Cypress nods.
"How many?"
"Two floors," he says. "Thirteen and half of Six. You'll have three snipers."
"It shouldn't be a problem, then," I say. But he shakes his head.
"You guys won't be out there for a few days – you're going to be stationed for a little under a month as security while we move in some equipment."
"So…?"
"So, let's say you do take the watchman out no problem."
"'kay."
"That a watchman has a shift, based on the moon. If you go out on a full moon, you come back when it's gone. If you go out on an empty moon, you leave when it's full. When that watchman doesn't come back on the full moon, Westwood's gonna' know something's up. They'll send more."
"Ah. How many?" He shrugs and taps his smoke.
"We never had a plan for that – it'll be up to Jessie."
"So what's your moral dilemma?" I ask.
"Phoebe wants details about Westwood security. Guard patterns, weaknesses. Shit like that."
"So?"
"So I don't have a problem helping out the Tower, but I'm not happy betraying my own."
It takes a long time for him to realize that was, perhaps, the wrong thing to say. Finally, his brow furrows and he says, "I'm here – I'm with you guys – but that doesn't mean I can break vows made previous."
