Breaker

Chapter 1 Kaeva Kaeva winced in the early morning light, blinking until the roof peak of his one-bedroom cabin came into focus. Out of habit, Kaeva counted the Plastamine planks from the wall to the peak—same number as yesterday, same number as the day he’d put them there with his own two hands—and then he studied the dangling wind chimes he’d hung from the apex beam. A soft, misty sea breeze blew through the cracked skylights. The seashells struck each other, and the hollow reeds echoed. He could smell the ocean and the island. The panes of safety glass were beaded with condensate. Safe. He was safe. He wasn’t out in some unknown field hoping not to get surprised by looters or extremists who would take anything he had and likely his life while they were at it. Nor was he wedged between bodies that smelled like sewers. He didn’t have to wake up with only his eyes, anymore; make sure his body remained soft and his breathing even so he could gauge if a threat was nearby and prepare for the attack. He didn’t have to fight off unwanted hands in the middle of the night, groping for his groin or his pockets. There were no ropes tying his possessions to his body. There was no shelter tag on his wrist about to run out of credits with the free kitchen. Gradually, Kaeva relaxed. It’d been eight years since he’d found safety on the island of Exile. It’d been six years since he’d started sleeping in this very cabin, in this loft, and on this pallet. And it’d probably take at least another two decades before the peace of Exile trumped the terrors of twelve years of homelessness in the post-Cure Age. It’d take another fifty to stop seeing Lars’ face every time Kaeva closed his eyes. Lars: screaming and sputtering, purple and red and veined, like an old-fashioned teapot trying to explode. Hell, even a hundred years might not be enough. Some things not even time could fix. Sometimes all time did was ensure that tragedy settled in the bones, rooted deep down in there, all ingrown like a toenail and festering like an infected wound. Kaeva stretched, shoving the pillow out of the way and the covers off his legs. He rolled side-to-side, luxuriating in the two-person pallet on which he slept alone. He turned his head to look at his calendar. It was a lucky find he’d come across five years ago, on one of his last regular visits to the mainland. He didn’t venture off the island, anymore. He put in his mainland order with the Expedition crew like the other island citizens who’d rather cut off a limb than go back to the mainland ever again. Exile was the opposite of a prison, but its safety net was another kind of cage. Kaeva didn’t mind that so much. He was an animal that needed to be kept on a short leash. The calendar was analog, solar powered and kept the date and time, the white numbers on their black backgrounds tick-turning as the hours wore ever onward. Today was March first. His birthday. He’d lived for thirty-six years. By post-Cure predictions, he was a baby. People who’d been given the Cure in their eighties were still alive and approaching their mid-one-hundreds. No one was sure how long bodies could go with the Cure’s regenerative qualities at work. Best guesses were regular people could easily live to one-fifty. Those blessed with good genetics and healthy lifestyles might see two hundred. Even three. Kaeva was not regular, nor was he blessed. He was Estranged, and who knew how long he’d be around. Five more minutes or five hundred more years, nobody had any clue. When the Cure had f****d with Kaeva’s cells, it had f****d with anything that’d been normal about him. There were no rules, no guarantees, and no warnings about how to handle his, what had the doctors called it? Kaeva smirked. Oh yeah, his “unforeseeable anomalies.” Unforeseeable, Kaeva’s ass. It’d been thirty years since the Cure went on the market, and twenty-five years since they had made it mandatory. A solid generation into the post-Cure Age with two percent of the population officially altered, and the government had yet to acknowledge the side effects that had created the Estranged. Why should they? Most Estranged died, killed themselves, or vanished. Problem solved. Kaeva sat up and hooked his arms around his knees. He studied his hands and the veins pumping life just under the dusky skin. He’d grown bigger and broader after the Cure, and he’d done it fast. Estrangement was unpredictable. For some it supersized bodies and made muscle easy to maintain. For others, it caused sickness, thinness, and a permanent unhealthy look. Kaeva had been lucky, he guessed. Size mattered on the streets and in the wilds where once there’d been farms and towns and now there were dust and abandoned buildings. It had made the difference between a knife in the back and another day to survive. And he’d done it. He’d lived. Kaeva flexed his hands into fists. So f**k the doctors and the politicians. f**k the Estranged, and f**k this line of thinking. He wasn’t one to dwell on where he’d been, and he didn’t want to start now. He was alive. He’d made it to thirty-freakin-six. It was a goddamned miracle. And now he had a home, a food source, a job, and space enough to be left the hell alone. Out here, he was only a danger to himself, and that was the way it needed to be. He liked it that way. Kaeva shoved himself up and out of bed. He dropped and did pushups and sit-ups before standing to jump and grab the Metaline bar attached to the A-frame of the cabin’s roofline. Toes dangling over the loft’s edge, Kaeva did pull-ups until his shoulders ached and his arms burned. Then he swung safely back into the loft and did the whole routine over again. Heart and blood pumping, Kaeva climbed down the ladder into the kitchen. When he reached for the refrigerator door, he heard the electricity surge and crackle. Frowning, Kaeva stepped back, breathed slowly and deeply for a full minute, and managed to get close enough the second time without incident so he could pull the small fridge out from its nook beneath the countertop and check the triple insulation on the wiring. There was a tiny tear near the wall. Kaeva found his insulation tape, ripped off a strip with his teeth, and wound it around the tear. It would have to hold until he could get the good cage insulation from the mainland. Which meant that Kaeva would have to go into civilization and place his order. Kaeva gnashed his teeth. The fridge stuttered, and Kaeva moved away, cursing under his breath. Why he and the Cure couldn’t have been born in the Dark Ages, he’d never know. No electricity? No problems. Maybe it really would be better to dig a hole out back for cold storage. He’d thought about it often enough. This was an island, though. Digging too deeply wasn’t an option, and there was still wild game to think about, too. An outbuilding would fix that problem and keep the animals at bay. Then again, it’d be a lot less work to bite the bullet and spend the credits to encase the entire fridge in insulation wire mesh. Kaeva mulled over the options and nudged the fridge back into place with his foot. Every Exile resident was provided with basic living supplies along with the freedom to earn credits and buy better stuff or get it from the mainland. Kaeva had been no different, though he’d had to modify all of his: insulate the wiring with mesh, exchange electric lights for oil lamps and candles. He burned those or the fireplace at night, if the weather was right. Some battery powered safety lights worked okay, too, and he had those as backup. The fridge unit was a simple one, as was his washer-dryer combo. The washer was indestructible, a real trooper. The fridge, though, was a b***h. Kaeva went to the shelves that lined one entire wall of his cabin. His pride and joy were on display: his collection of books and records. He had a guy on the mainland who stayed on the lookout for new additions and would hold them until they could be picked up. Kaeva had over fifty records, now, and he had three times as many books. History, fiction, self-help, old auto manuals, anything went. Kaeva loved reading. He plucked a book off the shelf and strolled to his record player. He kept it underneath a mesh-wire insulate cage to make sure he couldn’t short out the playing mechanism or the speakers. He lifted the cage lid enough to move the needle onto the record and the bar over so the music would repeat, and in seconds the first few notes of the Bee Gee’s, “To Love Somebody” started to play. He stood there for a long time, reading and listening. Simple life, simple pleasures on Exile. When he was calm and centered again, Kaeva dropped the book on an end table and walked through the single room serving as the cabin’s living, dining, and kitchen areas. He opened the back door to walk onto his screened-in porch. The screen was insulate mesh, and the porch was really a big container to ensure that when Kaeva got bad, he had a place to shield himself so he didn’t blow the island’s safety network. Still, Kaeva liked being out here. There was a couch, a couple of chairs, and he had a view of the gently rolling grassy land that met the beach and the water. The sun was rising above the black-blue Atlantic. The light and heat were burning off the chilly fog. Gulls and beach birds cried out overhead. Kaeva loved this time of year; loved being this close to the lulling sounds of waves and sand. He needed that serenity, with or without the Estrangement that required him to stay calm. Gaze on the water, Kaeva reached down his body and casually stroked himself, breathing and shuddering in pleasure and the cool air. About the time his body was awake and interested, he stopped. He spread his arms and planted his feet, preparing to begin his Yoga routine. He’d stretch and breathe and tease himself to the edge of orgasm a few times, until he couldn’t handle it anymore. Then he’d walk into the grasses and jerk off while the sun rose higher and the day grew brighter. He’d survived another year. He’d give himself a celebration for one. He’d spend the day naked and lounging, reading and listening to records. Remembering all the reasons why life was well worth the living. Kaeva had just shut his eyes and dropped into Warrior when he heard a sound in the distance. He looked left, to the north, and saw a white ATV approaching on the dirt road that led toward Exile City. It was coming in fast, zig-zagging and blaring its horn in a hectic honking. Kaeva sighed. There was only one place that vehicle could be headed. So much for morning serenity. He walked inside and climbed into the loft. He yanked clothes out of the storage trunks and put on plain pants and a tunic shirt, both the color of tree bark. By the time he climbed down the ladder and went onto the front porch, the ATV had stopped a few hundred yards away in the grasses. A small, lithe form was running at blinding speed toward Kaeva’s cabin. The blurry form whooped and yelled and waved his arms. Kaeva beckoned the boy closer. “Heyya hoyya!” Mecken called. “What do you want?” Kaeva growled, his voice rough. He couldn’t remember the last time he talked. Probably when he was last in the City, which had been two months ago to place an order. Mecken paused a few feet away from Kaeva’s front porch. A rush of air struck Kaeva, disrupted by Mecken’s speed. Mecken was a Swift, which made Kaeva wonder about the ATV. Mecken didn’t exactly need it to cross land in a hurry. Mecken bent over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. “You,” he said. “I need you to come with me.” That explained the ATV. Kaeva didn’t have to think about it. “No.” “You have to,” Mecken insisted. “Oh really?” Kaeva asked. “Don’t be an asshole. I’ve already had to go to a meeting with the bosses and had to pry that thing out of Collins’s hands.” Mecken jerked his head toward the ATV. Collins was in charge of vehicle storage and maintenance on the island. Mecken was one of the island’s many messengers. Mecken was the only one Kaeva ever saw. None of the others would risk being close to him, and nobody would dare to bring an electric anything near Kaeva unless circumstances were dire. Kaeva eyed the vehicle and then Mecken. “Maybe if you didn’t wreck them so often, Collins wouldn’t mind you driving them,” Kaeva pointed out to distract himself from the ominous feeling gathering in his guts. “He can always fix ‘em. And I help. I know my way around a tech kit.” Mecken shrugged and grinned at Kaeva. “And you should talk about breakin’ shit.” Kaeva turned to go inside. “Wait!” Mecken ran forward but stopped at the bottom step. Mecken was young but far from stupid. Kaeva silently approved. “You have to come with me,” Mecken pleaded. “I repeat: no.” “Boss’s orders!” “Which boss?” Kaeva asked skeptically. No way was he venturing into the City for Collins or Aero, the man over the Island Messenger Service. Mecken’s expression grew serious. “The bosses. Both of them want to see you right away.” The ominous feeling in Kaeva’s guts became a full acid burn. “Why?” “How the hell should I know? I just know it’s gotta be important ‘cause they sent me, the ATV, and these.” Mecken yanked something out of his back pocket and tossed it at Kaeva’s feet. Syringes. Not the auto ones, but the non-mechanical kind. Prefilled. Multiple. “Suppressors,” Kaeva observed. “They said you’d want ‘em.” “I would,” Kaeva agreed. “For f**k’s sake, why?” “You know why.” “I know nobody in their right mind takes those things unless lives depend on it.” “They do,” Kaeva said simply. Mecken flinched and fidgeted. “I trust you, man. You don’t gotta do that.” “I would,” Kaeva repeated, unmovable on the point of other people’s safety, especially a child’s. “They said you’d, ya know, be like that. Stubborn. They said it’d be the only way I could talk you into coming near the City.” Kaeva’s heart, already pounding, began to skip beats. “If the bosses want me so badly, they can come to see me.” “Mr. Perricone said you’d say that, too.” Kaeva grunted, unimpressed. “He’s a Seer. He should be able to predict the obvious.” “He said to tell you it’s important you come in.” “Then he’s an idiot.” “Ayah, he predicted that one.” “Oh yeah?” “He said you’d say ‘f*****g i***t’ or maybe ‘motherfucking fool’ or just-” “I get the gist, kid.” “They said you’d—” “Been spending a lot of time with the Island Kings, have you?” Kaeva interrupted. Mecken made a face. “They don’t like that nickname.” “Then make sure you tell them I used it when I told you to get lost.” Kaeva turned and opened his door, and Mecken scrambled up the steps and blurred, running anxiously back and forth faster than the human eye could see. “Cut that out,” Kaeva warned. “You’ll wear out the boards.” Mecken obediently stopped blurring, but he was vibrating all over and spoke so fast Kaeva could barely understand him. “I went to a couple of Council meetings with Collins, okay? He let me come. I’m not some high and mighty. I don’t rub elbows with Council. Not yet. I ain’t a tech yet. But it don’t matter. You’ve gotta come with me. The bosses asked for me. Came to my house and woke me up and everything. They sent me themselves. Because they know nobody comes out here but me, and they know we’re friend-like, and Mr. Perricone said to tell you he knows the risks of you comin’ in. That’s why he’s sending the suppressors, and they’re meeting you outside the City proper, near the docks.” “The docks?” Kaeva couldn’t hide the alarm in his voice. “Relax, man. They’re not sending you away. Not you. You’ve been here forever. You’re like, part of this island.” Kaeva grunted, unconvinced. He could be as rooted on Exile as a willow tree, and the kings would condemn and ship him away if he posed a real threat. Kaeva respected that policy. “And not without an offense and a trial and all that s**t. It’s just there’s no tech down there, on the docks.” There wasn’t much of anything at the docks. “What do they want?” Mecken’s blue eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed. “I really don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me. ‘Cause they knew if I knew, then I’d tell you. You know I would, right?” Kaeva glanced at the ATV. He looked toward the City. At least he wouldn’t have to go there. The docks would be basically deserted except for the lone patrol. It’d be the three of them, alone, and Oberon nor Lake wouldn’t let anything bad happen. Kaeva fully believed his leaders would put him down if necessary. “You know I’d tell, right?” Mecken repeated. “If I knew?” “Yeah. I do.” Kaeva bent and picked up the syringes in their baggie. “Let me get a coat and shoes.” Mecken collapsed into a porch chair. “Thanks, man. I owe you.” “You owe me s**t,” Kaeva called from inside. He stalked to his ladder thinking the boy owed him nothing. Oberon and Lake? The Island Kings? Now they owed him something for this. Of that he was damned sure.