The Courier

Finally.

Tag rounded the corner to see his the massive steel gates of the Commander’s compound looming a quarter mile ahead. It was well past midnight. He was dirty, exhausted, in pain. But he was finally here. The rain that had threatened for the past hour fell in cold, heavy drops as he fished out his badge with his right hand and held it up for the guards at the first of three check points leading to the compound. He pressed his left arm against his side to slow the bleeding from the wound he’d gotten earlier that night. It would need attention, but he would deal with that later. The mission came first.

Tag cleared the last check point and pressed on toward the gates of the compound. He flashed his badge again for the two huge men who flanked the entry door. “Tag Fortnight. Courier, Second Precinct. I have a delivery for the Commander.” Armed sentries looked down on them from atop a thirty-foot wall crowned with electrified barbed wire, like knights on a twenty-third century castle.

One of the entry guards, a bull of man with a bald head covered in tattoos, examined Tag’s badge while his partner searched Tag for weapons. The guard took Tag’s knife and two pistols.

The bald guard looked up with his hand out. “Package.”

“My orders are to deliver the message to the commander personally.”

The guard didn’t look impressed but he disappeared through the door, leaving Tag to stand in the rain with the remaining sentry. The man didn’t move, speak, or blink. He simply stood silently, rifle at the ready. In the distance, a mortar exploded. Tag looked to see the flare of the explosion rising from the direction of Old Hollywood. He’d heard there would be strikes in that area tonight. That rumor, at least, had been accurate.

The tattooed guard returned and led Tag into the compound’s gate house. He opened the door to a large room busy with radar techs, satellite operators, and drone pilots. A few looked up briefly to register Tag’s arrival, but quickly returned to their work. One more ragged courier from some outer precinct wasn’t worth their interest.

The guard pointed to a spot by the wall. “Wait here.” He left without another word.

Tag stood and watched the clock while he waited. He had until daybreak to deliver the package, and the longer he waited the less likely he was to finish the mission and get his extra pay. It was why he took the most dangerous assignment offered. He’d be damned if he got this close and missed his chance.

“Tag Fortnight? Is that really you?”

Tag came to attention at the familiar voice behind him. He knew that voice well though he hadn’t heard it in years — all whiskey and woodsmoke under starlight. He turned, surprised to see his old friend striding toward him. “Corinne Truegood. You are a sight for sore eyes.” He and Corinne had grown up together in the slums of east Angelicus, dreaming of a life far from the gangs and drugs of their neighborhood. Then the war started and everything changed. When they were old enough, they joined the Territorial Army to fight the rebels. It was dangerous, but so were the slums. They could either die fighting gang leaders in their tenement, or they could die fighting for the Territory. At least the army provided food and a little money.

When there was food or money to be had, which was more and more rare these days.

“I didn’t know you were stationed here,” he said.

She pointed to a badge on her chest. “Transferred a few weeks ago. I oversee the radio operators. What brings you here – “ she broke off. “Why are you holding your arm like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like your elbow is glued to your rib.”

“It’s nothing. I’ll deal with it later. Look, I’ve got a package for Commander Kirby –”

“Fine. One of my men can take the package while I patch you up.”

“No.”

She arched a brow at his sharp tone.

“My orders.” He glanced at the clock. 3:40 a.m. He fumbled with an inner pocket of his jacket with his right hand. “My orders.” He handed her a crumpled note on official stationary. “I have to deliver the message to the Commander personally. By daybreak.”

Corinne scanned the orders. “This has blood on it.” She looked unimpressed.

Tag shrugged, apologetic.

She looked up. “I’ll see what I can do.” She pointed to a chair. “Sit. You look terrible. I don’t want you to pass out in my radio room. I’ll be back.”

Corinne returned a few minutes later with a canvas pack on her arm. “I put a call in to the Commander. I’ll patch you up while you wait.” She unloaded the bag — whisky first. She poured two fingers and pushed the glass toward Tag.

Old friends were the best friends.

“So what happened to you?” she said, pulling out gauze, wipes, antiseptic cream and other first aid supplies.

“What do you think? Jaspers. Black Bridge is crawling with them. I scouted out but they came out of nowhere.”

“I’ve heard it’s bad over there. Some of the couriers are taking the long way by Wildfire Ridge.” Corinne peeled his shirt back from his side and examined the wound. “I need to clean it up but looks like you’ll need stitches.”

“You’re quite the medic.”

“I’ve patched up a few couriers over the years.”

He had no doubt of that.

Corinne poured alcohol on the gauze pad. “Deep breath. How’s your brother?” The question distracted from the burn of the alcohol on his wound.

Tag’s brother had never been in good health, but the discovery of cancer had still been a blow. Everything Tag did was to take care of Jason. They only had each other. “You know how it is,” Tag said. “Only senators can get medicine. The rest of us have to fight for it. Did you know a guy got stabbed to death in the lobby of Good Sam the other day. Over a bottle of aspirin. There weren’t any hospital staff to take care of him so some orderlies dragged him into the street to bleed out there.”

“I believe it,” she murmured as she threaded the needle. She worked deftly and quickly, making quick, neat stitched, then tied the knot and snipped the end of the string. “Should be alright. Just take it easy for a few days.”

“I will. This is my last run.” And he was glad of it. The couriers were known in the ranks as the Expendables. They were recruited from the poorest corners of the city, boys and men and women and girls who were so desperate for a meal that they would do anything, no matter how reckless or dangerous for it. Unlike the rest of the guard, the Expendables got paid. That is, if they made it through their assignments alive. That was a chance they were willing to take.

It had sounded noble, almost when they’d signed up. Defend the city. Protect your loved ones. Restore peace. Now it was clear that peace would probably never come, not until the last soldier lay dead and cold on the battlefield, and it was getting harder and harder to tell the two sides apart.

Tag’s luck was bound to run out sometime – it nearly had tonight, and he needed to stay closer to home to take care of his brother.

“What will you do when you’re out?”

“Take over Old Man Murphy’s convenience store.”

She laughed. They’d bought slushies there as kids. “Old Man Murphy is still alive?”

“Barely. That’s why he needs help with the store. And I’m tired of being target practice for the Jaspers.”

Tag blinked. A fever was starting as his body fought off infection from his wound.

“You need food. I’ll find something.”

She returned shortly with a plate of roasted chicken, potatoes and broccoli. Real, green broccoli. Tag’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t seen a vegetable in weeks. He and Jason had been surviving on beef jerky and stale crackers. He lifted his fork and started to shovel the food toward him when there was a commotion in the next room and then there, filling the doorway, was the legendary Gareth Kirby, Commander of the Fifth Precinct.

Tag wondered if the stories about the Commander were true — that once he’d single-handedly held off a detachment of twenty Jaspers so that a group of women and children could escape to safety. That he’d been known to skip meals to make sure his men had enough to eat. That he’d turned down the position of Provost because he wanted to stay in the field with his soldiers. He looked like the sort of man who would do those things. A jagged scar sliced the left side of his face from temple to jaw, running straight through his eye. The Commander didn’t bother with a patch – he’d once famously said that it wasn’t his job to make others feel comfortable about the wounds he’d earned in war.

Tag started to push up from his seat but the Commander stopped him.

“Please. Don’t get up. I hear you’ve had a rough night.”

“Sir.” Tag pulled the package out from under his jacket and handed it to the Commander, glad to finally be rid of it.

The Commander didn’t open it for a moment. “You know what’s in here?”

Tag nodded. His own Commander, Colonel Crow, had told him: plans for a new supply line and $20,000 for a new mission.

Commander Kirby slowly unwrapped the package, peeling back the waxed canvas covering and inspected the contents. Then he looked up, apparently satisfied. “You may have heard that we’re having trouble with dishonest couriers. We’ve had defectors to the Jaspers, and messages go missing.”

Tag was well aware. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it. At least the Jaspers paid their soldiers.

Commander Kirby continued. “I’m putting together a team of elite couriers. Trustworthy men who have earned the opportunity. Commander Crow suggested you. Tonight was your test run. You’ve passed. It’s dangerous work, but important. I’ll double your pay. What do you say?”

Tag blinked. The Fifth precinct was dangerous. He couldn’t leave Jason. “My brother –”

“Crow told me about him. We’ll relocate him here and get him the care he needs. And this,” the Commander pushed the $20,000 toward Tag, “is your signing bonus.”

Tag looked up at Corinne who looked as stunned as he felt. He’d be risking his life when he was so close to retiring. But he’d be risking his brother’s life if he said no. It was a risk he had to take. Tag reached his hand across the table.

“You’ve got yourself a courier.”