Zero Sum (2 page)

“Your old man brawl in the way back when?”
 

“No idea,” My dad never talked about the past. Heck, my dad didn’t like to talk about much of anything other than high taxes and scum government. I had no trouble picturing him as a boxer, but I doubted he’d ever show up for practice.

My dad’s stink made me wish that the power windows still worked, but at least he wasn’t yelling. The ride out of the valley proved to be uneventful, and I started to plan my exit as the light poles slid by. Ideally, I would leave the drunk bastard in the driveway and sneak up to my room. I didn’t want to be around for his sobering. I’d make do with some toast for lunch. Now wasn’t the time to ask him for a refund on my allowance. I rubbed at that part of the face where one’s jaw meets one’s skull. Yep, a nice thick wall between him and me would do just fine…

“Damn whore.”

My stomach turned upside down at those words. They declared that Kurtz Resnick, my father, my caretaker, and my sole male role model, had awoken. I turned up the radio. John Denver. John Denver might soothe him.

“Left me to raise this freak.”

Or not.
 

“You’re one to talk,” I grumbled. I was so tired that the thought of sleep made my mouth water.

Kurtz gave my seat a sharp kick.

 
The blow knocked me forward, and we almost landed in a ditch. I corrected course just in time and managed to keep the truck on the pavement.

“Dude, this ‘freak’ is driving your drunk ass home. Would you mind sitting still for the ride?”

“Home?” He fired off a bitter laugh. “There’s no home for the likes of us.”

My hands tightened on the wheel. “There sure as hell won’t be if you keep this up.”

“What?” He tried to sit up, but only managed to slump over on to his side.

“We’re gonna lose the house if you get fired. We’ll be out on the streets. Is that what you want? Do you want us to starve to death?” The road darkened at the turn. Our housing development had seen better days. The HOA couldn’t afford to keep the streetlights on, and half the homes were deserted, long ago stripped of their copper. My dad would never be able to sell the place…but it was a roof over our heads and that mattered.
 

I turned around to glare at him, but he was already back to snoring.
 

“You’re so worthless. No wonder she left you.”

My words were met by silence.

Tiny red and yellow sparkles filled the perimeter of my vision.
 

Shit.
A thick lump grew in the back of my throat. I’d been an idiot. I’d been a colossal idiot.

“Dad?”

Silence.

Shit. Shit. Shit.
 

I tired to deny it but the flashes of red sparks were getting stronger.

Don’t bait bears. Don’t ever bait bears.

He wouldn’t do anything until we stopped. He’d wait until he could drag me inside.

I didn’t give him the chance.

Scared out of my mind, I swung the wheel and we hopped the curb. I didn’t even wait for the truck to stop rolling. I popped out of the truck like a bottle rocket. No use running to the neighbors. They’d shuttered their blinds the last time I’d tried that. I could only hope that the drink would get the better of him. That he might trip and fall before he caught me.
 

The sound of his heels matched mine on the driveway, and the shimmers of light transitioned to a firm red beam as I struggled to open our front door. That meant his thoughts had changed to actions. My key found the lock in time, and I dodged the first blow, bursting through the door and down into a forward roll. I felt his hand catch my canvas jacket. I arched my shoulders and let him have it. Knocking over an old floor lamp, I took the living room couch on the fly. I heard him get tangled up in the cord behind me. He let out a curse as he fell. I didn’t dare gloat. I ran for the stairs at a full gallop.

I wouldn’t have made it without the aid of my Sight. I didn’t know what the lights were; I only knew that they could help me. My Sight only seemed to show up when I really needed it. I had no idea how to turn it on or control it, but I sure was thankful when it decided to fire up. The lights told me where the punches would come from. They told me when I should dodge. I’d discovered the skill a few years earlier, in the middle of one of my father’s constant beatings. But my Sight could only get me so far...

My father’s enormous gait made up for his stumble. He made a second grab for me as I reached the stairs. I extended my lunge to avoid his fingers—and missed the landing by an inch. My chin slammed into the wood instead. The sweet tang of blood filled my mouth. I went to scoot forward, but he had me by the heel.

“Curse you, Thetis,” I groaned. I didn’t try to fight anymore. There was nothing I could do to stop him.
 

Always magnanimous in victory, he let my chin catch every stair. I was enjoying the ride across the carpet until the door to the den clocked me in the head. (He always preferred to do this business in the den. Why was one of life’s many mysteries.) The muscles of my back grew taught with anticipation. The colors of my Sight were swirling like little birdies…and I fought off the urge to laugh.

I once thought the lights were angels, sent from Heaven to protect me.

But there were no angels for Dieter Resnick.

I once hoped a hero would come and save me.

But heroes live in stories.

I once sent a letter to Santa asking for my mother back.

But nothing ever came down our chimney.

I once walked the ten miles to church and spent the whole day in prayer.

But when he finally found me he just hurt me worse.

I listened as my father slid off his belt. Listened as he doubled it over. This was my life. This was my reality. There was no running from his savagery. No hiding from the pain. But I didn’t have to let it break me. I didn’t have to let it chain me. I was smart. Really smart. The teachers all knew it. The students all knew it. Even my bastard father knew it. And that gave me hope. I could become the greatest student this town had ever heard of. I could claw out of here with my bare will. And as I listened to the leather tighten, I decided that was exactly what I would do. Nothing and no one would ever stop me. Giving up had been struck from the menu. I looked up at the worn brown leather and smiled. I was getting the fuck out of here—and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop me.
 

“Anything to say for yourself?” he growled, phlegm rustling about in his throat.

It occurred to me that this was nothing but a chore for him. Like paying taxes. Like mowing the lawn. And so it could be with me…nothing but another chore. The clarity of that thought struck me dumb. It was like I’d been handed a loaded gun.

“Wait,” I whispered. My throat felt cold and dry.

“You plan on apologizing for your tongue, boy?” An apology made the whipping half as bad. That usually meant the pain wouldn’t keep me up through the night.

The air was chill. The house was quiet. He was waiting for my answer.

I looked him straight in his dank grey eyes and slipped off my sweater and shirt.

“Na. I just wanted to make it easier on you. Last time you hit like a girl.”

One squared is one.

Two squared is four.

Three squared is nine.

Four squared is blurry.

Five squared is—

“Jeez, Dieter. You always look so constipated when you’re sleeping?”

I jolted awake.

A warm hand patted my head.

“Easy there, white boy. I’m not here for reparations.”

I opened my eyes against the sun. I was resting on a soft quilted blanket. Birds were chirping. Kids were laughing. Elliot. I was at Elliot College. Mount Sleeping Giant was sitting off in the distance. Las Vegas was thousands of miles away…and Monique Rice was standing above me, her chocolate brown arms resting on her hips. A big smile was planted on her face. She looked thoroughly amused. I took a moment to admire her lengthy braids. They always reminded me of sun chimes.

Behind her, Jay Dante let out a yawn. I felt for him. It had been a long time since any of us had some rest.
 

“What’s up, captain?” I asked.
 

 
“What’s up?” she asked. “What’s up is that I told you not to nap here. You’ve already got a sunburn.” Like most everyone else, Monique was still wearing her gym clothes. Most of us had lost everything when the dorms were bombed last evening. The school’s supply of gym clothes was about all we had.

I wrinkled my sun-toasted nose. She had a point. I was burning. But I decided to be difficult anyway.

“Are you my mother?”

Monique rolled her eyes at me.

“I don’t know, Dieter. Do you need one?”

“Actually…”

Roster snorted awake beside me. Jolting up, he knocked me over.

“Where the ladies at?” he asked.

“Oh, Jesus,” Monique groaned.

Roster was training to be a cataphract knight. I wasn’t totally clear on what that was, but apparently it required every one of his abs to be able wage war independently. He ran a hand over the top of his shaved dome and gestured to the wrecked dorms in the distance.

“They clear us to go in, yet?”

“That’s why I came over to wake you two love birds up,” Monique said. “Let’s get a move on. They’re only giving us two hours. They want to start bulldozing ΙΚΛΜ by sundown.”

“Freakin’-A,” Roster grumbled.

“Freakin’-A,” I agreed.

“Am I going to have to bust out the jar?” Monique threatened. “The two of you with the cursing…I mean, seriously!”

+

We spent the afternoon combing through our wrecked dorm. The guys’ side was nearest to the blast, and all I managed to salvage were a pair of socks, my indestructible, Japanese designed, vacuum-sealed thermos, and a single melted flip-flop. The Emperor Palpatine poster survived too. We all marveled at that one for a while. In another stroke of luck, Dante found Sadie Thompson’s bunny mug. When he brought it over to her, she started crying again. Turned out, it was a gift from her dad. She spent the rest of the afternoon cradling it on our ruined couch. Jules sat and talked with her while the rest of us finished up. I was really worried about Sadie. The strain of not knowing whether her parents had survived the assault on Portland must have been a terrible. And now she was being asked to get into that fight herself…it didn’t seem fair.

After scrounging what little we could from our own room, Dante and I went over to give Sheila a hand. A large beam from the roof had split Sheila and Monique’s room in two. Sheila was digging through the scrap heap that was once her bed.

“It’s under here somewhere,” she said, her feet straight in the air.

“Wow,” Dante muttered. He spent a moment taking in the sight.
 

“Don’t worry, Sheila,” I said. “We’ll dig whatever you need out from under there.”

Shaking his head clear, Dante nodded and agreed.

Rummaging through the debris was a welcomed change of pace. It was straightforward work. All I had to do was lift and toss. There was no magic or explosions. No men dying. Just a big pile of junk to move. The task reminded me of cleaning dishes at Newmar’s Restaurant. I let myself fall into the task.

As we were getting near the bottom, Monique yelled at us from the ground floor. “Alright guys, let’s finish up. We only have an hour of daylight left. I’ve got some boxes and dollies. Let’s start moving our stuff to Central.”

“Right on, capt’n,” Dante replied. “Just give us a minute and we’ll be right over.” With his one good arm Dante tossed off another piece of plaster. My own shoulder was protesting vigorously, so his broken collarbone must have been plain screaming. Every now and then he let loose a wince, but other than that, you’d never have known.
 

I noted his behavior with a grunt. Dante grew up on a farm. That’s how they rolled.
 

A few minutes later, we reached the mattress and yanked it off, revealing a tightly packed duffle bag and a long cylindrical black case. My dad had a similar one, a remnant of his fish-master phase.
 

“Geez, Sheila,” I said noting the case, “I didn’t know you fished. You should teach us sometime.”
 

I reached down to heave up the bag and nearly yanked my shoulder back out its socket.
 

“Hey! This thing weighs a ton. What’s in here, rocks?”

“Na, bud. Steel,” Dante explained.

“They make steel fly rods?”

“It’s not a fly-rod, Dieter. It’s just you can’t go walking around town with something like Caladbolg. It’s either this or an instrument case.”
 

“Caladbolg?” I had no freaking clue what Dante was talking about.

“Sheila’s last name is Mordred, remember?”

“Yea. What’s your point?”

“My point is—”
 

“Let’s go boys and girls,” Monique shouted.

“Thanks for the help,” Sheila said. Reaching through the crack, she yanked out the long cylinder with ease.

“No problem,” Dante said happily. “Anytime you need me, we’ll come running, right Dieter?”
 

“Sure.” I couldn’t think of a time when Sheila needed a hand with anything.

“Let me get that for you,” Dante said, grabbing the duffle. He hefted it over his shoulder like a heavy bag of salt.

I stepped off the pile, dusted myself off, and ran over to grab my belongings. I counted my blessings. You never knew whom you’d get as a roommate. Dante sure was a nice guy.