“Pirate Radio loud and clear, and good morning to all our listeners. It is a clear, sun-shiny day so far. The crossings are open, and it appears there are no major issues at this time. We don’t hear any drones outside our location, although you never know where some of those pesky things will show up. No new shelling overnight has been reported, nor have the hooligans started anything with the citizens. All in all, a dull day for news.” Take my headphones off, get ready to go.

Trying to make a crossing after noon is risky. If you get stuck in the Green Zone after curfew, you could go to jail. If you’re even seen in a Blue Zone, you’re done. People like me just disappear if we get caught there. If you’re lucky, they don’t find you at all. If you’re not, nothing good comes to you. That’s why I try to start my runs around nine, ten am. The trouble makers aren’t up yet, and the cops are less likely to give you grief since the morning rush is over. Nothing guaranteed, though. I get off my bike and wait in line. There are eight cops at this crossing, the two over here holding up their people. Please don’t let me get called by them. Damn.

“ID.” I already have it out, but the little one snatches it out of my hand. The big one scans the card.

“What’s your name?”

“Daniel Washington, sir.” The big officer takes my ID and looks it over. He checks it for frayed edges or any extra layers of clear coat on it, both signs of tampering with the card.

“Serial number.”

“E718-2266-144.”

“How old are you, boy?” Watch out, the big one’s in a bad mood. My employer’s going to be in a bad mood if I don’t make this delivery.

“Fifteen, sir.”

“How’d you get permission to cross into the Green Zone?” We’re allowed to work at thirteen, but most permits go to older people.

“Sir, I’m just trying to deliver an envelope. If you want to open it, ….” He slaps my package onto the grass. Maybe the seal won’t break after all. Sometimes they don’t pay me if the seal breaks in transit. I don’t ever look at what’s inside, I just deliver them.

“Pick it up, Casper.” I squat down, reach for the envelope, his boot catches me in the ribs. Into the mud I go. “I said pick it up, boy.” Snatch the envelope, jump up out of his reach. Not that he didn’t try to kick me again. He still has my ID. I wish I had my contact lenses. Maybe this jerk wouldn’t be so bad if I had brown eyes. “Think you’re smart, boy?”

“No, sir.”

“You so dumb, you can’t even deliver a letter, can you, boy?”

“I do all right, sir.”

“You got a mouth on you, that’s for sure. Look here, boy, I’ll let you pass,” he flings my ID into the mud, “but this bicycle is mine.” That means I’ll be late delivering this envelope. That means I’ll be outside the containment center when they lock the gates. Another sleepless night. “You got a problem with that, boy?”

“No, sir.” I pick up my ID.

“So if you got no problem, move along.”

I wait a split second, but he doesn’t hit me again. One more crossing into the Blue Zone, collect my fee, and head back home. I should make it here by sunrise.

I try to stay close to the other whites on the side of the streets. You don’t stand out as much if you stay off the sidewalks and out of the middle of the street. Try to stay on the main roads ‘til you absolutely have to go to someone’s house or business. I try not to go to people’s houses. Neighbors get nosy when strange white people show up at the door. Today, I’m headed to Bartow Avenue, right over the edge in the Blue Zone. No whites allowed there under any circumstances. Except there are smuggling tunnels that can go six or eight blocks into the Blue Zone. Someone told me there’s some that go even deeper in, but those aren’t for me. I hate the tunnels that go into the Blue Zone. I always think they’re going to collapse on me or the cops will be waiting for me on the other end.

Zeke’s Shoe Repair. There’s no fence or gate separating Green from Blue Zones, but everybody here knows not to cross the street unless you’re dark.

“Excuse me,” I say to the large man blocking the door.

“What you want, boy? It’s almost closing time.”

“Yes, sir, but Zeke is waiting”

“He ain’t waitin’ on nothin’.” We do this dance every six to eight weeks or so. I can’t tell if this guy truly doesn’t remember me or if he enjoys pissing people off. Fortunately, Zeke comes to my rescue.

“What’s going on here? Boy, you’re late.” The big man scowls but gets out of the way.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Hold out the envelope. The seal is still good.

“Why’s this all dirty? I know it didn’t start like this.”

“A little misunderstanding at the crossing, sir. If you look at the seal,”

“Yes, yes, it’s still there. All right. Well, you can’t go any further. They’ve got drones up all over today.” That means I have to be extra careful going home. And I don’t get my full fee. “Do you have a place to spend the night?”

“Sorry, sir?”

“Do you need to stay here tonight? It’ll cost you three credits, but it’s safe.”

“Thank you, sir, but no. I’ll be on my way.” I hold out my ID card, Zeke looks at the big man, he scans my ID. I see he’s added 40 credits. “Thank you, sirs. Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Take this with you.” Zeke hands me half a roll. It even has butter on it. “Go now.”

“Thank you, sir. For everything.” Head out quick, it’s getting dark fast.

II.

E718 is a pretty big containment center. There’s a lot of places the fence is low or dug under. Mike says there’s even places the electricity doesn’t work, but I’ve never found them. I just need to get back to the Eastchester Crossing by the time they open the gate. Finn knows me. He usually lets me in without a problem. Unless it’s not Finn on the gate. Unless they send a new group of cops.

You can’t actually get to the Crossing at night. For two or three blocks on either side of the fences there’s nothing, no houses, no shops, nothing but floodlights and people watching the other side. The Green Zone is patrolled by citizens, the containment center by hooligans and other troublemakers. Cops stay a few blocks further away from crossings in case things get out of hand. E718 doesn’t usually get out of hand, but you hear stories about other containment centers where they’re always shooting at someone.

My perch overlooks the Eastchester Crossing. As long as nobody from the buildings next door looks too hard, I should be okay. Sometimes the drones fly by, checking for people like me. Aunt Ceci showed me how to stay in the shadows. She’ll be glad I got almost all my credits this trip. Maybe we could get Janie that book she wants about dragons. Nobody lives in this building. Drones set fire to it a few years ago by mistake during a riot. The firemen put it out pretty quickly, but nobody’s claimed the property, so the sixth floor is a pretty good hideout. Don’t fall asleep. Most people stay on the first couple of floors, but you never know. Someone might get curious and cause problems. At least there’s a toilet up here I can still use. There’s no water, but the drain still works. I wish there was something to eat. The last thing I had was that bread Zeke gave me.

Four am. People are lining up by the crossing, waiting to be the first one out. I don’t know how they stand there for two hours. That’s the price you pay for working outside, I guess. I really need to sleep when I get to my aunt’s house.

Six am. The cops are late. That makes everyone leaving the containment center late to their jobs. Just another way to keep the whites in check. I have to wait ‘til there’s people coming back to the center, maybe two, three hours from now. I’m so hungry I could almost eat dirt right about now. Although, Aunt Ceci told us there’s no nutritional value to eating dirt, it just fills your stomach, and people poisoned the ground near the fences so we couldn’t farm the land. I wonder if they did the same to this side.

Eight am. I’ll take my chances with the cops. There’s only two lines going in, but I’ll risk it. Pee one last time, head downstairs.

“You’re kind of early, aren’t you?” I didn’t even know Finn was here ‘til now. He smiles, pulls me out of the line.

“What do you need, sir?”

“Actually, I need a favor,” he says. I look away in case someone sees I’m surprised. “You can say no.” A cop owing you a favor is almost as good as a thousand credits in your account.

“What can I do, sir?”

“You deliver packages, right?” I nod. “So how long will it take for you to get to Pelham Parkway?”

“About four hours from here, sir.”

“What happened to your bike?”

“An unfortunate accident, sir. My usual rate is five credits an hour.”

“Only five? You should give yourself a raise, D.” He takes my ID, swipes it through his scanner. His machine beeps twice. “This will give you access to the Green Zone for 24 hours. And you have 60 credits on your account. In case you need to sleep somewhere else tonight.”

Is he trying to set me up, like I stole something from him? “Sir, that’s too much. I can’t take all that, .....”

He hands me my ID and a small box. “2240 Pelham Parkway. Okay?”

“Is that by the Blue Zone, sir?”

“About a thousand yards away. Go before someone starts asking questions.”

Backing up, “Thank you, sir. See you in a few hours.”

When I turn the corner to go north, I get my texter and message Aunt Ceci. We’re not supposed to have wireless technology, but someone rigged an old cell antenna deep inside the center so we can still text people. Reception’s not great out here, but I don’t want her to worry I was caught or something. Message sent. Shove it deep in my pocket, head north then west.

I have enough credits to buy something to eat, I just need to find someplace that will serve me. Not even some of the street vendors will sell to whites. Sometimes I can get some decent stuff from a dumpster behind a restaurant, but it’s too late for last night’s garbage and it’s too early for today’s fare. “ALL OF GOD’S CHILDREN WELCOME” sits in a cracked window. I wonder if that includes me. The door is open, there’s old music playing inside. It could be a trap. I look inside anyway. Plenty of light-skinned people in here, even the security people.

“What can we do for you?” one of the huge guys at the door asks.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, looking down. “I’m in the wrong place.” I get ready to be hit hard by this goliath.

“Are you hungry?” There stands a young lady, dark brown, I have no idea where she came from. “We have food if that’s what you’re looking for.” How did she know that?

“C’mon inside,” the guy smiles.

Not a lot of light shines through the windows. There’s a couple of doors on the far wall. The young lady takes my hand and brings me to the left door.

“Ma’am, I don’t have a lot of money,” I tell her.

“Your money’s no good here, sir. You take what you need, and we will gladly see you on your way.” Open the door, there’s about twenty people eating like I’ve never seen before. Brown people waiting on whites at square tables. Wheat bread, meat that didn’t come from a can, clear water.

“I don’t understand,” was all I could say.

“In order for there to be true peace; true peace, young man; we have to respect one another. Please.” She sits me at a table nearby then vanishes.

“Something to drink?” a boy asks. He’s short but well fed and dark brown. “We have water, juice, milk, tea, coffee.” I’ve never had coffee before, I’m not about to try something new here in the Green Zone. Pirate Radio is playing softly in the background.

“Juice, please,” I manage. “What’s that red meat?” I point to someone at the next table.

“That’s roast beef. Would you like a sandwich or just sliced?” I was six the last time we had beef at our house.

“A sandwich is fine. Thank you.” The boy disappears.

“Don’t get too used to this place,” the man across the table says. “The neighbors tolerate her only ‘cause it keeps the peace in this neighborhood.”

“I don’t understand,” I tell him. “She’s in charge of all this?”

“And the contacts with White Power this side of the fences. There’s ways to power up your charger and texter if you have the time.”

“I don’t really have the time.” That’s the truth, especially if I wanted to get home tonight. My server comes with a huge glass of orange juice and an enormous roast beef sandwich.

“For you, sir. The paper is if you want to save the other half for your journey.” And the kid is gone.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m back on the road. My half a sandwich is in my front pocket with my ID. All the white people I see are gardeners or chauffeurs or far more important than an errand boy. Drones are buzzing in the distance, don’t know where they are exactly. Just keep walking. Pelham Parkway is enough of a main road, I shouldn’t get into too much trouble for being this close to the Blue Zone.

2240 Pelham Parkway is a gated home with three uniformed guards in front. I have no illusion this is going to end well for me. I’ll be lucky to get just a little scuffed up instead of a real beat down.

“ID,” the first one snaps. He takes it without snatching it and does the scan himself.

“You’re a little slow, boy,” the second one says.

“Yes, sir, I didn’t want to cause trouble. I have the package.”

“Good. Is the seal intact?” I hold out the box, they can see for themselves everything’s just like when Finn gave it to me. “You’re all right, kid.” The second guy takes the box while the first one puts 40 more credits on my account.

“Sir, I don’t understand. I was already paid,”

“Consider it hazard pay, boy.” And he gives me my ID back.

“Thank you, sirs. Any message to return with?”

The first guy smiles. “Tell Finn he’s crazy.”

“Will do, sir. And thank you.” Off I go. Maybe I’ll even get some sleep tonight.

III.

Keep your mouth shut and notice everything, Aunt Ceci says. I wonder where the black smoke is coming from. We’re too far away from the fences for it to be in the containment center. Stay between the parked cars and the sidewalk so the fire engines and police cars don’t accidentally run me over. How much longer before I get back to where I got my sandwich? If I’m lucky, I can get a meal for my whole family from that place. If I can remember where it is. Down just a little further, turn left, damn. Two streets away, there’s cops all over and a block on fire. I don’t think it’s where I got fed. Hope everyone got out of the fire okay. I need to get out of here before

“You, boy!” A spindly black man yells out his third floor window. “Get the hell off my street! Don’t make me come down there and beat you myself!” Retrace my steps to the main avenue, find a different way home tonight. So much for the food.

All the floodlights are on when I get close to the fence. I can hear the drones swarming overhead even if I can’t see them. It must be a brawl or something at the crossing. A few blocks further, there are the chants of White Power and some cursing the “darkies.” I’ll hang out back here behind a dumpster, eat my sandwich.

It’s after eleven, the riot’s nowhere near under control. They should’ve sent more cops. There’s no way we’re getting shoved back into the containment center tonight. White Power signs burning on the electric fence and in the street, hooligans pushing people to fight. Keep my head down. Can’t catch me if you don’t see me. Nobody’s checking IDs, so I just keep walking. Stay away from the drones, they’re mostly firing on the middle of the crowd. I’ll make it if

A cop on the end of the line goes down. Stay out of it. Nobody there to help him. Stay out of it. If they kill him, it makes life infinitely worse for all of us. He’s not fighting back. Fight, stupid. Nobody can save you if you don’t fight back. Finally, he gets one of the drones shooting again, people going down. Hooligans get behind him, take his helmet and weapons. Maybe they’re distracted enough they won’t notice me. Grab his collar, pull hard. He’s lighter than I thought he’d be.

“Hey!” some big guy yells. “Those boots are mine!” I take the cop’s boots off and throw them at the rioter.

“The rest is mine,” I yell to the crowd. Fortunately, nobody else seems to care. Into the first old building, up some stairs, through the door to an inner room. Get high, Aunt Ceci always says. That and keep your back away from the door. I don’t know what to do. What do I do with a cop now? He can’t stay here. If he’s late reporting in, we’ll get drone strikes ‘til they find him. Maybe I can get paid for his body armor. It’s not a complete set - someone got the arm shields - but the chest alone should get me 300 credits easy. Then I could buy another bike. Or my contacts. I could get Aunt Ceci a pair of brown contacts, too, with that many credits. Take the jacket and the body armor off, shit. This cop’s a woman. Now what? Get the rest of her flex cuffs, tie her hands and feet together. Right now I don’t care about her comfort. It’ll be more comfortable for her for sure if nobody else finds her here.

“Hey.” My eyes snap open. I can’t believe I fell asleep like that. The smell of tear gas and smoke bombs and singed flesh is pretty strong even up here. “Hey, are you tied up, too?” People are still outside, but I don’t hear the White Power chants anymore. “Hey, are you awake? C’mon, kid.”

“Shutup,” I tell her. Better be nice. She could kick my ass at any moment. Aunt Ceci is going to kick my ass if I don’t contact her soon.

“No. We need to get help. I don’t think they bound your legs,” the woman keeps on. “Here. I can get your hands free if you come over this way.”

“Please stop talking.”

“What’s your name?”

“Please. Just shut up.”

“Okay, you want me to go first? My name’s Charlotte. What’s yours?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Sure it does. I can’t just call you ‘Kid’ all the time.” How do I get her to stop talking? “But wait. You were there.” She’s trying to remember what happened.

“Yeah, well, now we’re both here.”

“There was a mob. They were trying to get out of the center.”

“They should’ve sent more of you.”

“You weren’t part of it, were you?”

“I’m just trying to get home before curfew.”

“Why did you save me?”

“I didn’t do anything yet.”

“Why did you save me?” I don’t have an answer for her. Maybe she’s somebody’s aunt. Maybe she doesn’t like her job either, but at least she has one.

“I didn’t save you. You’re bleeding.” From more than one place it looks like.

“Untie me so I can fix that.” I laugh instead. “What’s so funny?”

“I may be stupid, but I’m not an idiot. The second you get loose, you call your team to get you, and a whole lot more people get hurt. No way.”

“The only way you don’t get hurt is if you release me.”

“Sure thing, boss-lady. Do you even know where you are? You have no white in you.”

“I’m an eighth white.”

“Nice try. They wouldn’t let you be a cop if that was true.”

“Technically, it’s four thirty-seconds, but we come from a long line of cops, even white ones, and there’s that oath we take to uphold the new constitution and bill of rights and all.”

“‘And propagate the species of higher order beings,’ yeah, we hear all that on Citizen Radio.” The government thinks it’s cool for us to hear people getting sworn in, particularly new cops and citizens. Everyone outside the containment centers has to swear they’ll follow the rules or else before they turn 18. Most of the citizens taking the oath are 16 and 17.

“So, if you’re not going to cut me loose, what are you going to do?” she continues.

“I need to think, okay? You need medical attention, and I just need to think.”

“Do you have a cell phone?”

“Those aren’t allowed in the containment center.”

“Just like all those projectiles those people had during the riot.”

“What happened to your phone?”

“We don’t carry our personal ones because of the link-up in our helmets. Besides, all our communication is monitored. We’re supposed to be on our best behavior 24-7 as cops.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“It’s going to suck even more if you don’t help me out.”

“Fine. Just give me a minute.” I message Aunt Ceci that I have a problem. Maybe she’ll know what to do.

IV.

Ceci’s medical office is on the second floor of what used to be an eight story building. The top four floors were demolished by drones, the third floor is open to the street. Sometimes I go up there to get away from things. Sometimes Aunt Ceci hides people up on the third floor ‘til they’re relatively safe, but there’s no power or water up there. Mike’s been my aunt’s bodyguard ever since she saved his life two or three times. He used to be with the hooligans, then Aunt Ceci talked some sense into him a few years ago. Now he makes sure nothing else happens to this building.

Between Charlotte being my prisoner and my aunt being very busy from the riot last night, it’s slow going to her office. Fortunately, the street light is out at 186th Street, more shadow for us to hide in. Whistle our signal, Mike signals back. That’s so we don’t get bricks dropped on our heads. Upstairs, Mike shows us into the waiting room.

“What is this place?” Charlotte asks.

“Someplace safe,” I tell her. Mike takes his place by the window, bricks in hand. It seems like forever, but Aunt Ceci is smiling when she comes out of the operating room.

“I’m glad you both could make it,” she says. “Please. Come with me.” We go into the other treatment room.

“They got most of her gear,” I tell Ceci. “I don’t think they hit her head too much.” Ceci takes some foil packs from her doctor’s bag.

“Are you dizzy at all?”

“No,” Charlotte replies. “My eyes and throat burn a little, but I’m guessing that’s from the tear gas.”