Battery City Rebels: Part One

Indigo sat down on Fun Ghoul’s bed and set the book aside. She was alone. Truly alone. Not just in the room or the basement. But for the first time in her life, she had no one. No one to go home to. No one to talk to or tell her problems to. And she’d been trying not to let it get to her. She didn’t cry when she saw her father’s life get snuffed out. She didn’t cry when she walked. She held onto her rage and her vengeance and moved with focus. Exterminate the exterminator. What else did she have to live for?

There was no time for mourning. Or at least that’s what she told herself. The truth was just that she’d never developed tight enough bonds with people to mourn them. It was by design. One her father used to scold her for holding onto. If people didn’t have love, what were they fighting for? When he said this, she’d just smile and say, “I have you.”

But now she didn’t. She didn’t want to stay and wait for her body to heal. She just wanted to get it over with. She’d march into Bat City, head right for BLI headquarters, and die with her mask on. In those final moments, she’d embrace the pain and the grief. Let herself give in right before Bat City swallowed her soul like it did everything else.

That’s why she didn’t make bonds. It hurt too much to lose things. People.

The stairs creaked from the hallway, and it was only a moment before there was a knock on the door. She didn’t have enough time to wipe the tears from her cheeks before Ghoul pushed it open. He looked in at her. The strange mating ritual was long forgotten. He looked sympathetic now.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

He shut the door and sat down beside her. She sniffed to try and reel it in again, but it was too late to pretend she hadn’t been crying. He looked like he wanted to comfort her, but they hadn’t established their boundaries yet. Most people weren’t huggers. Not anymore. Or at least not at first. But there had been times when something was supposed to be fleeting. When one of them would inevitably break down and hold onto that feeling for a moment longer. Some people just needed to be held. To be hugged. To feel loved even though they knew it wasn’t real. And she would let them hold her. Let them cry on her for all the things they’d loved and lost. And then she’d be gone by morning. She didn’t think anyone ever missed her. She certainly never missed them.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he said.

“It’s fine. I just needed a minute. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“I know there isn’t anything I can say to make it better. No matter what you believe in. I’m sure he’s in a better place, but—that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I know that feeling. None of us have parents anymore. And we were just kids during the wars.” She nodded and sniffed again.

“I guess I’m lucky in that regard too. I was only fourteen when the wars ended. I don’t know how I would have survived on my own.”

“I was seventeen. I get it. All we had was each other and the Girl.”

“So you had to be a father on top of trying to figure out how to grow up.” He smiled.

“We’ve never tried to be her fathers. But yeah—we had to raise a kid on top of trying to learn how to be adults. It hasn’t always been easy.”

“Maybe none of us are lucky.” Then he laughed softly.

“That sounds about right. The lucky ones are all dead. But here.” He reached out to take her hand and slid a beaded bracelet off his wrist and onto hers. “Have some bad luck.” She examined the beads. The bracelet looked homemade, and they all had them. She never thought to ask what they meant. They were a group, so she didn’t think much of it.

“Bad luck?” she asked. He shrugged.

“It’s always after you, isn’t it? So if you always keep bad luck on your wrist, it stops looking for you.” She nodded slowly. She liked that idea. Even though she didn’t put much faith into things like magic beads and desert witches.

“Thanks.”

“My uh—my point is that you’re not alone. Not here. You don’t have to be anyway.”

“It would probably be better if I was.”

“Probably. But—what’s the point of living if you have nothing worth dying for?”

“You sound like my father.”

“He was an inspiration to all of us. As I said, we were just teenagers when the wars ended. You latch onto adults when you’re a kid on your own.”

“Where were you from? Before the wars, I mean.” He moved back onto the bed and leaned against the wall. She stayed where she was, fingers stroking the bad luck beads on her wrist.

“Someplace far away. We all were. What about you?”

“Here. I think. I’m not sure. It’s hard to remember. I was in Bat City for a time.”

“They did a number on us, didn’t they?”

“Did you get taken too?” She glanced at him. Long enough to see him nod and look away.

“I don’t know my own name,” he told her. “None of us do. That’s why we started this whole thing. It felt easier to make your own name than to try and force yourself to remember the one you lost.” She nodded.

“I must be lucky in that regard too. I know what my name was. But I’m not her. She died a long time ago. My dad just didn’t want me to forget where I came from. Even if I couldn’t remember the names of anyone else. He wanted to make sure I remembered mine.”

“It’s usually the first thing they take. Your identity.”

“Yeah.” They sat in silence for a moment. Allowing themselves to grow comfortable with the companionship. Even if it was only fleeting. It was nice to talk to someone again.

“What was it? Your name?”

“Claire,” she said.

“Hmm.” She turned to look at him as he thought about it. “Suits you.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah. I think so. I wish I could tell you mine.”

“Me too. But that’s one beautiful thing about this world. You can be who you want.”

“In that case—I’m just Fun Ghoul.” She smiled.

“And I’m just Indigo.”

“Claire,” he whispered to himself. She liked the way he said it. Like it was a secret. She realized she’d never told anyone her name. It never seemed to matter before. It always felt like a nickname more than a real name. Only used by the only person close to her. And now she’d given it away freely to this man. That couldn’t have been a good sign.

“Do you want some company, or do you want to eat alone?” he asked after another thoughtful moment. She shrugged.

“I don’t mind company.” She reached for her bowl again. “Did you get to eat?”

“Enough.”

“So, um—what’s Poison’s deal anyway?” He sighed and reached for the book she’d left on his bed.

“It’s complicated. Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

“You guys have already done so much for me. I don’t know how you want me to repay you.”

“I don’t want you to repay me. Having an ally is more important to us than compensation. Besides, how many times did your dad stitch us up? He didn’t always do it for a price.”

“At least let me make myself less of a nuisance. Take your bed back. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch. Don’t worry about chivalry. Jet was right. It’s been dead longer than the world.”

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch.”

“You can’t possibly find it comfortable.”

“Absolutely fucking not. I hate that thing.”

She glanced at him again over her shoulder, but he was now leaning on his elbow to read the book. She wondered how many times he’d read it. If it was something he actually found interesting or if it was just familiar. Safe. His own way of forcing himself to remember the old world. Maybe that’s why he clung to his books. It was a reminder of the life he could have had if the world hadn’t ended.