before he could grasp them.
‘I liberated it from the Cracker, rights after he liberated it from that skinny rich dude who lives up the Hill.’
‘They is all rich dudes up there,’ said Tark. ‘And the Cracker's dangerous. Ya shouldn't be messin’ with ’im.’
‘Yeah, well I is dangerous too,’ said Zyra, turning her back on him and walking away. Then suddenly she whirled around, baring her metal studded teeth, a knife in each hand. She spun one of the knives between her fingers and then threw it. It thudded into the floor at Tark's feet. As he looked down at it, she sprang. In seconds, he was pinned against the wall with a knife to his throat.
Tark swallowed hard. ‘Ya've mades ya point.’
‘I luvs ya, Tark,’ she said, in a low voice that was almost a growl.
She leaned in, as if about to kiss him, then stopped, their lips bare millimetres apart. Tark closed his eyes and savoured the feel of her breath on his skin. He desperately wanted to kiss her, to cast aside her knife and take her in his arms. But he couldn't. The World in which they lived, and the Designers’ rules prevented him. And if they broke the rules, access to Designers Paradise would be denied them. He and Zyra were strays — street-rats, without title or birthright — and the Designers’ rules were heavily weighted against them. Sometimes it felt like an invisible scorecard hanging over their heads, with a black cross just ready to be inserted in the appropriate box the moment a rule was broken. They were free to thieve, fight, even kill — in fact, as thievers it was expected of them — but a simple kiss was against the rules.
‘The Cracker's dangerous!’ Tark reiterated, opening his eyes and bringing his focus back to the matter at hand.
Zyra stepped back, and within seconds the knives were concealed again.
‘That slimy weasel wuz workin’ me turf again,’ she said. ‘I'd been staking out the skinny rich dude for over a week. It wuz me job! Not ’is.’ A smile spread across her features. ‘But I taughts him a lesson he won't be forgettin’. Cracked one of ’is fingers for ’im.’ She laughed. ‘Guess ’e really is the Cracker.’
‘Oh Zyra,’ said Tark. ‘Ya shouldn't ’ave done that. Now ’e'll be out revengin’.’
‘Don'ts ya worry about me,’ she said, serious again. ‘I'll keeps an eye out for ’im.’
Tark didn't look convinced.
‘I also gots some info from the Cracker,’ said Zyra, tugging at her earrings.
Tark raised an eyebrow.
‘I knows where to gets us anotha key.’
Tark reached for Zyra, running a hand through her Mohawk. ‘I luvs ya.’
‘Let's get to it then,’ said Zyra, pushing him back. ‘Gots ta move fast. Before the Cracker.’
Zyra was hoping the Cracker got fried by the drone, but she wasn't sure and she didn't want to take any chances.
Tark closed the chest and clamped shut the lock. Zyra flipped the hidden switch and replaced the brick. They watched the chest descend into the floor, the protective metal slide into place, and the concealing floorboards replace themselves.
‘I thinks I needs a bit extra for this job,’ said Zyra, walking over to her closet.
It concealed a hole in the wall next to where her grubby old mattress lay on the floor. Zyra tugged at the shabby door with one hand, while bracing it with the other. It was tricky to open. She looked warily over her shoulder at Tark, then began rummaging through the contents.
Tark busied himself by examining the collapsed section of wall. The basement they lived in was not at all stable. The building above it had long ago collapsed, concealing it beneath a huge pile of rubble. Hidden from the world above, it made the perfect headquarters for a couple of thievers. The basement still looked pretty much as it had when Tark and Zyra first made it their hideout, although Tark couldn't quite remember how long ago that was or where he had lived prior to that. The only difference was the collapsed section of wall. It had fallen in about two weeks ago during an earthquake, dirt and rubble tumbling into their home, and threatening to crumble even further with just the slightest encouragement.
‘Done!’ announced Zyra, startling Tark out of his musings.
He turned to see her securing a belt and pouch around her slim waist.
‘Ya know,’ he said, turning his attention back to the wall in an attempt to distract himself. ‘We shoulds fix this.’
‘We has gots betta things to do,’ said Zyra, heading for the steps.
Tark nodded and followed her.
The pair made their way onto the streets of the City. They moved carefully through the rubble of ruined buildings, over cracked pavements and roads, amongst the urban desolation of the once-great metropolis. Everywhere they went, eyes watched them from the shadows and scuttling movements followed them.
Their journey eventually took them under a concrete walkway that connected two partly standing buildings. Once upon a time they may have been shopping malls, but now they were just empty shells, used as shelter by other thievers, scavengers and mutants. They stood tall and imposing, the largest remaining structures in the City, casting long, wide shadows.
Tark's eyes darted to meet Zyra's. She gave the slightest of nods.
He shivered as they stepped into the shadows between the buildings. They took a risk every time they passed. Singletons, duos, even trios, weren't a threat. But the gangs, they were another matter. The gangs could be dangerous. But even they were preferable to some of the other horrors that the crumbling City concealed. The best thing to do was keep their heads down and try to look as if they weren't worth ambushing. It usually worked.
But not today.
Nine shapes stepped out of the shadows. A gang of large, burly youths towered over Tark and Zyra. Dressed in a mishmash of leather and denim, their disarrayed clothes actually seemed like a uniform. This appearance was assisted by their matching mirrored sunglasses and bald heads. Each of them carried a length of chain.
One of them stepped forward and swung his chain above his head. His face was bruised, bloated and misshapen, as if suffering from the after effects of a severe beating. His sneering lips revealed a mass of blackened teeth that had been filed down to sharp points. The rest of the gang started swinging their chains, mimicking their leader.
Zyra moved. Within seconds, one of her knives thudded into the gang leader's chest, and the other was held at the ready. As the gang leader fell to the ground, the rest of the gang continued to advance, unperturbed.
Tark pulled back his cloak and put a hand to the sword hilt. But before he could draw the sword o’ light, he found a chain around his neck pulling him backwards. His hands clawed at the chain in desperation, trying to stop it from choking him. He glanced over to Zyra, but saw that she had troubles of her own. She had just knifed the gang member who had grabbed her from behind, but was now being advanced on by four more.
Tark was no stranger to a fight where the odds were stacked against him. When confronted by an opponent of greater size, as was often the case, he used his attacker's strength against him. Instead of struggling, he launched himself backwards. His attacker stumbled back and fell, letting go of the chain. Tark tumbled over him, landing hard on the pavement. Struggling to his feet, ready to draw the sword, he was grabbed and thrown back against a wall. Ugly faces, sharp teeth and rank breath filled his senses as two gang members pinioned him. Then a third stepped forward, twirling his chain. Wide-eyed and helpless, Tark watched the lethal length of chain draw nearer.
The metal links were centimetres from his face, when his attacker collapsed, Zyra's second knife in his back. As he fell, his chain caught the arm of one of the gang members who held Tark against the wall. Tark cast a brief look towards Zyra, in time to see her kick one opponent whilst simultaneously punching another. With no further hesitation, Tark used his free hand to draw the sword o’ light.
He never got the chance to use it.
As soon as the gang saw the light cutting through the shadows, they ran, shielding their eyes as they went. They melded back into the shadows, disappearing completely. Tark sheathed the sword, a little disappointed.
‘And I never even gots ta use me stars,’ said Zyra, patting the little pouch that was attached to her belt.
Tark knelt down and searched the nearest gang members. Nothing!
