The Society's Demon Read online

  Chapter Three

  The Bruisers

  When he was sure he’d lost any pursuers in the sea of filth and metal, he slowed to a walk. He was far from safe, but he allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. He knew that by now, like an army of rats clawing their way up to the surface, Hans’ allies would be scurrying into action.

  He kept the phone firmly in his pocket as he traversed the streets of Sohalo. Nobody could know he had the phone, not even the good people. They had a habit of talking when threatened with death, and Jonas was sure there would be plenty of that to come. They would give him up without hesitation to protect their families. Phones were almost non-existent in the shantytown. Most of its residents barely had enough money for food let alone luxuries. Only those who managed to scrape some kind of existence from the bleak surroundings of Sohalo could afford such things.

  People walked by him as he crossed the town. It made him feel a little safer. Amongst others he would appear less conspicuous. On his own, the Bruisers might recognize him. He watched his people as he walked by. It was summer, and nights were often hot. That heat clung to the metal walls of each shack, turning them into ovens that cooked the people inside. So, even though it wasn’t safe sometimes to be outside at night, they came out anyway, in groups, and the smells, sounds, and sights came with them. He liked the evenings when the sun set and the glowing red wood fires were lit. The rich scent of wood smoke, the songs played from cracked vinyl records on ancient record players, as men sat around in groups playing morabaraba while smoking joints that smelt like they could knock an elephant out. Whoever had managed to run an illegal cable from their home to a nearby establishment, stealing their electricity, would become the hub for the night. Perhaps tomorrow, the business owners might discover the cable, and tear it loose. The power companies used to come out to confront the people. But Sohalo had stopped being somewhere. It was nowhere. The government had shut its eyes to it, and so it was useless to attempt to stop an invisible people from stealing a day’s worth of electricity. Tomorrow night it would be someone else’s turn to host the party. It was nice to see there was still some life left in Sohalo, that she wasn’t completely lost to the dark hopelessness.

  He moved quickly, passing it all, keeping to the shadows as he watched for danger. It had only been fifteen minutes since his getaway. By now, Hans would have enlisted the aid of his allies to find the thief who had dared steal his phone.

  The Bruiser gangs would be mobilized, and sent to scour the streets in search of the culprit. He had a certain mystery on his side, as they didn’t know for sure who the thief was, only that he was a boy. In Sohalo there were thousands of boys, and most needed to steal for a living. But with his reputation as it was, they would already have a good idea it might be him. No one else was as brave or creative when it came to thievery.

  That’s why it wasn’t safe to carry the phone on his person for too long. He would have to hide it and come back for it later. If the Bruisers cornered him tonight and found the phone on him, they would have no reason to keep him alive. But if they stopped him in the street and failed to find the phone, they might let him go anyway. Only a few of the Bruisers could identify Jonas on sight.

  After searching for several precious minutes, Jonas found a suitable hiding place, one he could easily identify upon returning the next day. In the darkness near the edge of the slum, he found a row of portable toilets. On one side of them lay a road where cars passed by occasionally, casting their light on the faded blue shells. On the other side, not far from the metal backs of several shacks, several open pits sat. Those were the public latrines, but as the cars passed by, the light from car headlamps revealed clusters of trash built up around their edges like cushioning for those who braved the foul depths. The smell of feces and urine was bad enough, but when combined with rotting refuse, it made your eyes weep and your nose burn. Jonas pitied those had had no choice but to use them, but it was worse for those whose homes were nearby. Perhaps their noses were so used to it now that it didn’t bother them. But the rats, and there would be many of them, would be a constant menace. It wasn’t pleasant, but that was exactly why it was the perfect hiding place. He steered clear of the pits, however and headed for the four portable toilets. When he was sure no one was around, he ducked and slid the phone underneath one, making sure to press it into the corner. Rats screamed at him, and he heard scurrying paws in the earth as he disturbed their nest. He pulled his hand out quickly. A rat bite could mean infection. An infection here, where medicine was hard to come by, meant sickness and possibly death.

  The heads of each Bruiser gang carried a cheap cell phone, from which they took orders from their seniors, the adults that worked for the Fathers. Not all the gangs were dangerous to Jonas. Some of them were young, and easily scared off. Others were not so easy to deal with, and would be looking for a lone youth, stopping and searching likely suspects, and not gently.

  More than once some gang or other had discovered his home out in the grassland, each time in a different location, and destroyed it. Everything he’d worked for, gone in a second. In a way, it had improved him. Each time they struck, he learned something new about them. One day he might actually thank them. If it hadn’t been for their constant harassment, he might never have adapted. He might never have learned the survival skills necessary to live as a child, alone in the snake and rat infested grasslands.

  Thanks to the Bruisers, Jonas had started to store his possessions in multiple hiding places or stashes as he called them. Food stashes, where he kept anything tinned, or preserved, or freshly cooked, in pits scattered across the landscape, hidden in the long grasses between Sohalo and Soweto. Of course, the Bruisers weren’t the only danger. Usually, Jonas covered the pits with scavenged sheets of zinc or iron, pressed down tightly against the food with heavy rocks, then dirt, to ward off rats and other scavengers. But occasionally, rats the size of small dogs would dig under the corrugated sheets to reach the food hidden underneath. Sometimes, they even attacked while Jonas was sleeping. But whether it was a rat or a snake, he had learned to deal with them, and eat them. Good meat was hard to come by in Sohalo, and roast cane rat wasn’t so bad.

  He didn’t only store food. He had several tools in one stash, an axe wrapped in plastic and buried near some trees, and a special place where he kept his most treasured belongings. His pride and joy were his farms. These were also his most closely guarded secret. Nobody could know about his farms. They provided Jonas with most of his food, and he couldn’t afford to go hungry. He needed his strength and speed in order to make it through each day without being skewered by a Bruiser knife.

  He’d started to build the farms years earlier when he realized that living in Sohalo was out of the question. Using the knowledge he had gained from watching the farmers at work on the nearby farms, he managed to nurture several small patches of vegetables. He had tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, turnips and even several types of herb, all growing in tiny patches hidden out of sight. It hadn’t been easy though. His farms were under constant attack from rodents and insects. Then there was the weather. Once, in a particularly bad monsoon rain, his farms had washed away leaving nothing but muck and shredded leaves behind. In the end, after much experimentation, Jonas had settled on plastic barrels. Growing his vegetables in barrels afforded his vegetables more protection by keeping them raised up off the ground, away from predators. Of course, in the beginning, finding them had been difficult especially in an area picked clean by Hans’ fetchers. Jonas had to steal them from the richer neighborhoods on either side of Sohalo.

  Jonas already knew his route home, through the barren wasteland on the edge of Sohalo, the one that stank of burnt rubbish, then into the grassland. Until he reached the tall stalks that towered over him, he wasn’t safe. Even in virtual darkness, he could find his way home. At first, living out in the last thread of wilderness in this area had scared the life out of him. He had feared the creatures t
hat came out at night, chirping and scraping, and calling out all around him as he lay there in his makeshift home trying to sleep. But after a few weeks, he realized that his own mind was his worst enemy. It created danger where there was none and left him panicking. He soon realized, though, his new home was safer even than Sohalo.

  Crossing a patch of wasteland, Jonas stopped suddenly. He’d heard something. He froze, turning his head this way and that, listening for the noise again. The night was full of sound. Distant music playing somewhere among the shacks, the drone of insects, and the throaty back and forth of the reptiles. But this sound had been different. It hadn’t belonged to the night. His senses flicking on like switches, he dropped into a crouch. He heard other noises now too, the crunching of dirt under soles, the rasp of vegetation on clothes. It was all around him, a constant whisper that grew steadily in volume and consistency. He scanned the darkness, searching for the source of the noise but the lack of light made it almost impossible to discern one form from another. There was someone out there, coming for him. They were close too, on every side. He was surrounded, trapped.

  He cursed his stupidity. He should have known better than to take his usual route home, should have known that one day, one of the Bruisers might actually have the intelligence to lie in wait for him. Just beyond the patch of wasteland lay one of his stashes. In a plastic bag, buried three paces from a rotten tree stump, was a torch with several batteries. On nights like this, when there was no moon, the torch was a convenient thing to have. He wished now that torch was in his hands, so he could see his way out of trouble.

  He stayed crouched as he tried to listen, but his increasing heartbeat thumped a pulse in his ears. Fear, when left to its own devices, could surge out of control and overwhelm a person, make them act without thinking. He couldn’t allow that, he had to stay in control.

  Laughter split the air, a thunderous sound that rose from the ground somewhere ahead of him as if from hell itself. This was joined by other laughter all around him. There was something horribly familiar about the whole thing. He’d heard this before, the booming laughter and the gleeful cackling of minions. Jonas swallowed. These were not adults, the pitch was too high, but children, like him. They hadn’t ambushed him in a long time. That fact had made him careless. And because of that carelessness, he was sure that out there, somewhere in the black void, waited his worst enemy.

  Riian was not someone that anyone would want to come across in daylight, let alone darkness. At least in the dark, Jonas wouldn’t have to look upon his ugly face. That was a trivial detail at this point, because ugly or not, Riian and his gang were the most feared of all the Bruiser gangs in Sohalo. They didn’t just steal, they liked to leave something behind to remember them by, something that would give them an edge over the other Bruiser gangs. The single long scar that traversed his face from ear to cheekbone had been given to him by Riian. The scar was like a stamp of ownership. Some people had one scar, the most unfortunate had two or even three. Jonas was sure that given the circumstances of this evening, a second scar was the least of his problems.

  Jonas fought through the survival mechanism-induced chemicals sweeping through his body and tried to think. They had him, but there was always a way out, he just needed to think. Shapes in the darkness, rising up now, reminded him he didn’t have long to choose from the scant few options. Running seemed to be out of the question. But he could fight, there was always that. Ducking down, he scrabbled in the dirt, brushing his fingers through it and seeking the comforting solidness of a stone. If he could find two or three, he could create a gap in the noose closing around him. But his fingers found only mud that broke under his scrabbling fingertips.

  “Hello again, reject,” said a voice that stopped Jonas’ breath in his throat. It was Riian. He could see him now, his silhouette a large smudge that moved through the darkness, as if he were part of it, and was breaking away from it to invade Jonas’ world. “We’ve been waiting for you,” Riian explained, his deep voice coated in satisfaction.

  “Look at you,” Riian said, his voice filled with joy. “No way out, no light, you must be terrified. Poor little reject with no friends.” Riian was getting closer. Jonas could hear his heavy footfalls on the bare earth now.

  “You should be grateful I’m here to put you out of your misery.”

  Jonas didn’t speak. His mind was awhirl with thoughts and plans. They formed a bulwark against his rising panic, but it was beginning to crumble.

  Riian was just ahead of Jonas, flanked by two Bruisers who looked like scarecrows beside his bulky form.

  “I used to think you were a tough little bastard, you know that?” Riian asked him. “You were such a slippery little snake, always managing to slip away and hide in your precious grass, well not tonight.”

  Riian snapped his fingers. Light pierced the darkness from all around him, too bright to his dark-adapted eyes. Jonas raised his hands against the beams of torchlight that stabbed at his retinas like red-hot needles.

  “Look at you now, so pathetic, so alone.”

  Something struck Jonas on the side of the head. Pain bloomed at the point of impact, and opened like a flower, spreading across his skull. He stumbled, and fell to one knee, clutching at the painful lump just above his ear. It was cold, and wet, and the dull ache came and went, came and went like a heartbeat on his scalp.

  “How does it feel, reject?” he heard Riian ask through the fog of pain. “Your own weapons used against you.”

  “Fuck you,” Jonas hissed through gritted teeth.

  More laughter rang out all around him, followed by several more stones. Some struck his body, some thudded against the dirt nearby.

  “Stop!” Riian roared. “We need him awake, at least for now.”

  Jonas felt hands grip him and yank him upwards. Dazed by the light, and the pain, he staggered upright.

  “Hold him.” The two pairs of hands each took an arm and twisted it behind him until he wanted to shriek. Instead, he gulped down the pain before it could leave his mouth.

  He lifted his head to see Riian standing before him smiling, his teeth gleaming like those of a lion before it sinks its teeth into its stricken prey. Jonas couldn’t deny the fear this time. It embraced him and held him in a grip more powerful even than that of the two Bruisers holding him.

  Riian didn’t speak for a moment. He simply stared at Jonas, his face bathed in the torch light of his gathered troops. In the light, his face was more like a mask. Each little bump and line standing out, and eyes that looked like they’d been plucked from a wild beast.

  “Where is it?” Riian asked softly, his smile fading.

  So Riian was after the phone, no surprise there. He must be so pleased with himself. Not only would his masters be proud of him, but he would also get to finish Jonas off finally.

  “Where’s what?” Jonas replied.

  Riian punched him in the face. Jonas felt his lip break against his teeth. He tasted blood, felt it running down his chin.

  “The phone,” said Riian, “I know you’re not stupid enough to have it on you.”

  Jonas spat a mouthful of blood at Riian’s feet. He lifted his head again and met Riian’s soulless gaze. He felt different now. Riian’s punch had knocked the fear out of him. He was numb, and in that blanket of numbness, he found clarity. He knew what he had to do, and how he could do it.

  “I don’t own a phone,” Jonas said, licking the blood from his bottom lip, “And even if I d...”

  Riian’s forehead crashed into Jonas’ face. Jonas managed to turn his head just before impact but the blow still left him dazed and caused his legs to fold under him.

  When Jonas looked up again, Riian was smiling once more.

  “Looks like I opened up that scar of yours,” he said reaching out to clasp Jonas’ face. He twisted Jonas’ head to the side, his fingers squeezing so hard Jonas thought his teeth might cave
in under the pressure. “Yes, reject. It’s opened up nice and wide.” He let go, then stepped back. “Do you remember when I gave that to you?” he asked, his tone conversational as if they were friends talking over dinner.

  Jonas nodded sluggishly. “I remember…” He could feel the blood on his cheek, a river that turned into a waterfall where it met his jaw. A beating from Riian wasn’t like that dished out by anyone else, and he’d taken a few over the years. Because of Riian’s size and strength, every blow that landed opened him up, spilling more blood. He tried to sound confident, but he was weak, and his head throbbed.

  “How could I forget?” he asked, lifting his head to look Riian in the eye. “A face as ugly as yours has a way of sticking in the memory.” He smiled then, despite his torn lip.

  Riian laughed gently, nodding as he removed his leather coat. “I’m glad you’re not giving in so easily,” he said.

  He held the coat out and one of his minions took it from him. Underneath he wore a white shirt. Torch beams sat on the material like sightless eyes, and Jonas could see that Riian’s shirt was spotless. Riian was surprisingly stylish, for a big brute. But he was also vain, and that was evident not just in the way he dressed, but in the way all his clothes seemed molded to his muscles. Jonas thought it was comical, in a way, but also useful, because whether Riian was aware of it or not, the fact that he cared so much about his appearance was a weakness. Riian began to unbutton his crisp, crease-free shirt.

  One of the goons pinning Jonas’ arms whispered in Jonas’ ear, “You’re in for it, now, reject. He’s going to beat you to a pulp right where you stand.” The others knew it too, those standing around the periphery of the gathering, their torches primed on Riian’s torso as he removed his shirt. The energy in the air changed within a few seconds. He could hear the awe in the murmuring voices. It mingled with the gleeful anticipation also present. Riian’s Bruiser gang loved their master, it seemed, and he had taught them to love violence as much as he did. Riian handed his shirt to the boy holding his leather jacket, telling him to keep it clean, then turned to Jonas, and cracked his knuckles, bending the fingers back one by one.