Chapter 12: Harsh Reality

Fresco curled into a fetal ball on the floor with his back against the bars while they did their dirty work. He refused to fight, knowing if he held back his attackers would bore of their game faster. Fresco was witness to bullying often enough in school to know it was true. This was his first time on the receiving end, though. He was usually the one to break up the mess.

Oddly, the hunger saved him. The heavy blows hurt, but he realized as he lay there, panting and bleeding, boot heels and fists striking him as the three boys grunted and sweated in effort above him, it didn't even compare to the pain of the longing.

Overcome by his helplessness, Fresco began to laugh. The leader stopped mid-kick and stared at him, his two hombres following his lead. Fresco continued to laugh, louder and crazier, knowing no matter what they did, nothing was worse than what already happened to him. In fact, he thought maybe it would be better if they just finished it and released him from his misery.

They backed off. Their leader grinned suddenly, using the T-shirt of one of his friends to clean the blood from his knuckles.

"This boy's one of us," he said. "Ain't you?"

"Waster, EMZee," one of the others said. "No antifreeze in him, man. Pure Wasteland."

The three exchanged a look. Fresco wondered what they meant, but kept laughing, his only defense.

"Wasteland." The leader spit it out like it was a curse and the greatest thing in the world all rolled into one. His eyes burned with his own hunger. "Waste off, then. You all ate up till you get more and we ain't got enough to share."

Sparking up another cigarette, the Latino boy tossed the smoldering match at the still laughing Fresco and went back to his corner.

Fresco waited a long time before uncoiling from the floor and dragging himself painfully back to his seat. He wiped at the blood on his face, ignoring the ache of his bruised ribs, grateful after all they didn't do any serious damage. He lifted his head long enough to see the guard's pockmarked face peering at him with interest over his newspaper before the thin sheets fluttered as the guard went back to his reading.

As the day went on, the cage began to fill up. One look at Fresco's bruised and bloodied body was enough to give him the privacy he wanted, especially after an attack. They whispered about him as he writhed in pain, and he tried to listen, but the very act of reaching out with his senses made the agony worse. Eventually, he withdrew into his own little world of misery and fearful anticipation of the next bout with the burning torture of his need.

He managed to dodge a passing kick from EMZee as he and his two buddies were released a short time later. The effort it took was almost more painful than the boot to his side, but he reacted on instinct. His last vision of the Latino boy was his index finger pointed at Fresco's forehead through the bars as he dropped his thumb and mouthed, "Bang!" He grinned and left, arrogant strut carrying him out of the room.

Fresco didn't have time to think about it. The hunger took control of him and sent him spiraling into the tornado of darkness. When he shuddered his way back to himself yet again and lifted his head, he was exhausted and wanting. As he did, his pain-racked brain noticed a young kid, younger than him, staring at him. The boy's eyes were a little wild and, like Fresco, he seemed to be on his own. In no shape to accept attention, even friendly attention if it was that, Fresco lowered his head again.

It wasn't long, however, before he felt someone approach him, wary, like a terrified animal, taking forever before perching on the bunk beside him. Fresco, his mind his own again, checked out the boy who was staring openly, fear etched into his face.

"You want to stay away from him," the boy whispered.

"Will do," Fresco said. He had no intention of going near EMZee or his boys ever again. As soon as he got out of there, he planned to find somewhere safe to figure everything out. Where he wasn't sure, but he felt better having a plan.

"You feel it too, don't you?" The boy whispered, hazel eyes huge and shining. "The fire. The hunger."

Fresco sat up a little and took a better look. The kid was horribly skinny, face sunken, eyes shadowed and terribly hurt. Fresco got it. The kid looked like him. Plan forgotten with answers finally so close, he nodded.

The boy sighed from deep within as some of the fear ran out of him. His grin was shaky, but it was genuine.

"Do you know what happened to you?" His voice broke a little.

Fresco shook his head. The kid nodded, like it was no big surprise. "Yeah, me either. No one seems to. We just have normal lives, you know? Then suddenly you wake up with this thing eating into you," he swallowed hard, "and that's it. The rest is Wasteland."

Fresco felt horrified. The girl understood, but here was the truth of it staring him in the face. This kid lived what he lived, what he now suspected Daniel had lived.

"How many?" Fresco asked in a whisper, finishing his train of thought in staggered chunks. "Of us. Are there?"

The kid shrugged, his quick grin flashing before the fear came back.

"Lots," he said.

They fell silent as Fresco tried to understand. Finally, the kid broke the silence again.

"Joey," he said.

"Fresco." That simple act of normalcy made Fresco grin, a faint but human smile mirrored by the boy a moment later.

"You got any on you?" Joey's fingers twitched. There was a tic in his cheek below his left eye Fresco couldn't help but watch in morbid fascination. Tearing his gaze away, Fresco shook his head, not understanding, but the kid took it as a no. He slid closer, his hand slipping into the cuff of his dirty denim jacket. There was a scent on the boy he recognized. It woke the craving within him. When Joey's fingers slid free, he was holding something.

"Guess you'll be needing some, huh? Don't worry, I got lots." Joey pressed his fingers into the thin mattress and eased his hand back, leaving a tiny tube behind. "We Wasters gotta look after each other, yeah?"

Fresco stared. His shaking halted as his body froze in horrible focus. The very sight of the little vial of shining blue liquid made his mouth water and his blood rush and he wanted it so badly he would kill to have it. He now knew the scent he caught from Joey was the same as the precious liquid in that perfect little vial and it was his, all his. He snatched the tube up and found the shaking returned, but this time in want. With a massive effort, Fresco jammed the center of his absolute desire into his pocket.

"What is it?" Fresco asked, voice harsh.

The boy's hurt eyes were sad.

"You're a newborn," Joey said with great regret. "Sorry, I didn't know."

Fresco shrugged, fighting his demon. "Just tell me. Please."

"The nectar of the gods, dude. Liquid Diamond City. It's Wasteland."

Fresco started at the mention of the City.

"You know about it?" Desperate need as powerful as his craving washed through him, a connection deeper than any drug. "The City?"

Joey's eyes welled with tears, instantly dashed away with one grubby hand.

"We all do," he said. "They take us there and show us heaven. And then, when we aren't worthy, they cast us out." His lower lip trembled and, in that moment, despite the years the pain added to him, Fresco guessed with shock the boy was no more than twelve. "Do you know how to get back?" A horrible hope lit his eyes. "I know I could kick this stuff, get off the junk, if I could just get back to the City."

Fresco shook his head. Joey nodded, hope fading.

"I guessed as much," he said in a flat, dead voice more terrible than his hope. "I don't even dream about it anymore. They won't even leave us that."

Fresco's heart pounded. There was so much he didn't know and wanted to ask but didn't know how.

"Guess you have questions," Joey said.

Fresco flinched, hating his transparency, but nodded.

The kid shrugged. "I don't have any answers, except the stuff I've guessed and it's all crap anyway." He squinted at Fresco. "You really look like shit for being fresh, you know? Usually I can spot a newborn, but you look ancient."

"Sorry," he said.

Joey tried his grin again. "No worries. Just saying. Oh, by the way, don't expect to be in here long."

"Why's that?"

"Dunno, but I've been caught a few times and never get charged or anything. It's like they want us out there or something." The kid hugged himself. "At least, that's what I figure."

"Wasteland," Fresco said, trying not to think about it because the thinking made the agony of wanting worse, but needing to know. "Where did it come from?"

"No one knows, but one thing's for sure. It don't work the same for everybody. Some kids take it, they get a little drunk or something, you know? But guys like us," he gestured at Fresco, "we get, like, the best ride." Joey's face turned dreamy. "So awesome, but so hard coming down." The tightness and fear returned to his face. "You gotta be careful, man, okay? This stuff is, like. Wow. You know?"

Fresco didn't, but he nodded, thankful for the warning.

"You need more, you find a sugarpop. He'll fix you up, okay? They're all over the city."

"Sugarpop?" Fresco was confused by the new language. He never even tried marijuana before, even though Justin made several attempts to get him to smoke some with him. The whole drug culture was entirely new.

Joey shrugged. "Dealer." A pause. "But not EMZee. Steer clear of him. He'll soon as beat you than sell you Wasteland."

So EMZee was a drug dealer. Made sense in a weird way. "How will I know who's selling and who isn't?"

Joey grinned at him, but this grin was full of despair.

"You'll know," he said. His hand twitched incessantly in his sleeve and a look of impatience came over his face as his eyes drifted away from Fresco, attention lost. Fresco recognized in Joey what he felt in himself. The boy disappeared in the want. Suddenly and completely, without warning, he was gone inside. Fresco didn't know what to say, or how to bring him back. It didn't matter. Joey was done talking. He returned to his solitary seat. Fascinated but feeling sick at the same time, Fresco watched the kid put something in his mouth and collapse with a smile on his face, his whole body slumped and vacant.

Horrified, Fresco tore his eyes away and swore he would never, ever, take Joey's road. In the meantime, the little blue tube burned in his pocket and in his entire being. But he fought with everything he left to keep his soul intact and, for the time being, he won.

***