Nick sighed to himself for the second time that day, "I really need to get off this planet."
A spark leapt around a black bracelet on Rocky's wrist. The refugee camps couldn't afford to lose track of a refugee because it would have to answer to BioFarms: producer, buyer and seller of human organs. In order to pay for the cost of the camps, the U.S. government had a contract with the BioFarms Corporation. All refugees and their organs were considered their property until the teenagers' eighteenth birthday. It was an ideal business arrangement for the organ transplant companies. Death rates in the refugee camps were extremely high, and it was bio-ethically required to pass on one's organs upon death. Since an organ company would be upset if a child died and they lost a "harvest" before they could retrieve their organ donation, most refugees were leashed by black bracelets to keep the kids near the camps, which were monitored by the nannydrones. If they did wander too far away, their nanny-leashes would set off electric shocks, reminding them to return to the perimeter. For the unruly refugees, their nanny-leashes were set to three miles.
Rocky's was set to one hundred yards.
Her nanny-leash sparked again, making her arm twist.
Nick smirked. "Nanny's got you on a short leash?"
"I don't feel it no more." Rocky took a long, drippy lick from her Pappy's Pudding Finger, showing the readout on her nanny-leash: Geneva Virus Levels: 0.05. Chance of Cardiac Arrest: 1 in 100. Life Expectancy: 19.
A pang of sympathy ran through Nick. Growing up in a refugee camp wasn't an easy life. Maybe Rocky was misunderstood?
"They shortened her nanny-leash again," a bystander sNickered. "Rocky was caught sneaking into a pet shop off of I-90. Mixed all the pet food up with the Geneva virus and fed it to the animals."
As Rocky smiled a brown pudding smile, Nick's sympathies evaporated.
"What do you want with Tim?" Nick said.
"I told him to give me his pudding finger." Rocky scrunched her eyes. "He wouldn't. We don't get any fancy stuff like you preppies up in your big houses. So what? You gonna hit me now?"
"Is that an invitation?"
Rocky's eyes grew. "What? Did? You? Say?"
Don't hit her, Nick thought. Don't hit her. Grand wouldn't like it.
"Come on, Tim. Let's go." Nick turned toward the house.
"Oh no, you didn't. Where're you going? Is it feeding time for grandpapa?" Rocky rounded her arms imitating an old grandpa. "I need a wipe, Nicky. I think some of this plum juice dribbled on my big, fat, belly!"
The hecklers guffawed in response.
Nick turned quickly and took three long paces, cocked his head up and grinned. He smiled so long, Rocky started to get an uncertain look in her eyes. Nick found the smile to be a very useful, versatile instrument in a confrontational situation. Way better than a grimace. It was great for a face-off with knuckle draggers like Rocky. You just smile ear-to-ear, long enough for your opponent to let their guard down. All the while thinking, I'm about to punch you in the face.
Like right now, for example.
CRACKK!
Nick's fist made contact and Rocky spun, her dreadlocks tilt-a-whirling, while the Pappy's Pudding Finger somersaulted away.
"Don't talk about Grand like that!" Nick said and then pushed two awestruck kids apart and marched toward the house.
"Mgggrrrhh!" came an inhuman sound.
Nick looked back.
"Raaggh!!!" Rocky leapt to her feet and charged. Nick shifted slightly to the left, grabbed her waist, and threw. She fell with the impact of a moderately sized meteor.
"Aaaiiighhh!!!!" Rocky's face turned beet red, dug her pudgy fingers into his shoe and pulled. Nick's world spun. The muddy ground kicked air out of his lungs, and the cloudy grey sky looked back down. She charged on hands and knees. Nick crab walked in reverse while she lashed at his shins.
"Woah!" He jumped to his feet. "Freak!"
If you turn the key, you turn the clock. If you turn the clock, you save me.
"No, no, no," Nick thought. "Come on!"
If you turn the key, you turn the clock. If you turn the clock, you save me.
The voice was so strong little lightning bolts danced around Nick's view, and vomit swirled at the back of his throat.
If you turn the key, you turn the clock. If you turn the clock, you save me.
Nick's lips started to move, even though it wasn't his voice, "If you turn the key, you turn the clock. If you turn the clock, you save me! If you turn the key, you turn the clock. If you turn the clock, you save—!"
Rocky's shoulder drove into his stomach. Bile rose. Organs separated.
"Ooh," Nick groaned, falling to the mud again. She grabbed a snatch of his hair and began dragging him across the dirt.