Rose Rising

Rose cowered under the rock outcropping, shivering from the soaking she’d gotten in the storm. She stripped off her outer shirt, pulling a replacement from her satchel. Her overalls were soaked to the knees. Dusk had settled, the evening quickly shifting to dark, and she had to find cover. Get home. Damn it. Damn. Caught out in the open. No excuse. Her hair dripped frigid water down the back of her collar, and she bent slightly, shaking her head like a dog.

She’d been distracted by the bright red in the flowers behind the rock she was huddled against. Oriental poppy. Amazing. Rare, in this neck of the woods, and easy to sell to the Heads. Yu-zhen will pay well for this. She packed the plants carefully into  her shoulder bag, mentally spending her potential income on rice, and maybe some socks.

The rain let up, and Rose glanced around the edge of her temporary shelter, wary of others moving about this late. Clear. About fifty yards to the link fence behind the city buildings, then back onstreet, to relative safety. Assuming she could avoid the patrol.

She stepped out, and heard the quick scuff of boot on rock above her, saw the blur of movement,  before feeling the blow to her face. Stars. Her jaw throbbed, eyes watering as the burn spread, then numbed.  She stumbled to her knees, holding her face, spitting blood.

“Look what’s come out after the rain, Stu. Ain’t she a tasty bit?”

Meathooks jumped down, gathered the back of her jacket, and lifted her to her feet, only to smash her to the ground again. Rose mouthed dirt and broken grass, as she cursed under her breath.  She felt a tooth dislodge, and her blood quickened.

“She don’t fight much, do she?” Dirty blonde hair swung in her sightline, framing her perspective on some rather large work boots.  She hoped they weren’t steel-toed.
Stu, the smaller of the two, knelt by her face and grinned into her furious gaze.

“She knows better, I’d wager.” He swiped his hands on his thighs, brushing off the soil. “This’ll be over soon, gal. Be nice to us, and we’ll be nice to you.”

Meathooks guffawed. Clapped his palms together. Rose knew the joke was on her. Damn it. Not too bright, but he knew a fun time when one crawled his way, broken and desperate.  Or, so he thought. She slipped her right hand into her pocket, palmed the ground with the other for leverage, and waited.

Stu probed her bag with a heavy hand, probably crushing her poppies in the process, and deemed it empty of valuable booty. He then worked down her body, groping over her slim hips, forcing his hand between her thighs, rough with his exploration.

They let up long enough to flip her face up, her breath whooshing out from the impact. Stu was on his knees, looking her over with eyes glazed, his slack, hollow face intent. Before Meathooks could refasten his grip, she whipped her foot up and over, cracking Stu across the face, hard enough to snap his head back. Before he slumped off his knees, Rose slipped her  7-inch clipped-point hunting knife from her pocket and rammed the blade through the top of Meathooks’ nearest shoe, to the handle, pinning his foot to the ground. Nope. Not steel-toed.

He shrieked, both hands outstretched, thick fingers waving like panicked sausages. Rose smirked at the image, her eyes glinting as she rose to her feet, and picked up her bag. Stu had finished crumpling, unconscious for the moment. Meathooks tugged at the knife embedded in his foot, sobbing to himself. She hated to leave the blade, but relished even less the idea of trying to get it back. Time to go, girl.

“Fuck you, you ugly bitch,” Meathooks growled, flinging foamy spit with  his blubbery lips. “I’m gonna get you, split you open. You fucki--”

Rose spat her loose tooth in his face, watched as it bounced to the wet earth.

“A little something for you,” She turned away, started walking. “Savor it, Lumpy. It’s all you’re getting.”

She squinted with her good eye, and started to jog toward town, watching her step the best she could.

###

Back home, in her dim corner of an abandoned hotdog assembly factory, Rose took stock. Her broken mirror didn’t give the full picture, but she saw enough. Swollen, bruised, missing a tooth. She’d broken bones before, fought with her bare hands, feet, teeth. Whatever it took to keep going. Being kicked in the face was different,  but she’d heal. Scars wouldn’t do too much damage to her looks. Her thick, black hair was cut unevenly, short enough to prevent anyone from dragging her off with it. Her nose, crooked already from being broken in a fistfight a few years ago, would still work after this.

She sneered at herself, bitter, and wistful for the days before the Decline. Or, the days she’d heard about from Old Sally, on the curb. Sally was all right. She had plenty of yarns to spin, and Rose would share  whatever meal scraps she picked up from the alley dumpsters.

Good neighborhood, really. Lots of restaurants which catered to the remaining wealthy, and she had a deal with most of the kitchen staff. Surprisingly soft-hearted, for the clientele they catered to. Her eyes stared back at her, blue as the sky she’d never see. Cloudy, with a chance of rain.

Right now, she needed to focus on getting a new knife. Working at night was never a good idea, but her vulnerability was a serious problem. She would just have to be careful. Fewer mooks out there, so there was that. Sigh. She looked over her place, at the machinery and equipment left behind from years ago. She wondered if anyone knew about it.  Probably not. Score one for bureaucracy.

She picked up a short length of pipe, tested the weight. Edges were better for her, but the dense metal would do until she could get re-equipped. The sooner the better, from the stories she'd been hearing. The patrol was becoming worse, actively hunting outsiders, now. Her time here was limited, at best.

# # #


Back in the clearing, in the dark, moist soil near a particular outcropping, a lone bicuspid nestled, root down. The minute traces of blood mingled with the rainwater, sank into the muck.
Minutes passed.

The tooth twitched, as if being teased from beneath by an earthen tongue. Tendrils of frayed root slithered from the enamel, stabbing deeper into the ground. They took hold, curling around subterranean rocks, long-dead bones of various creatures unfortunate enough to have breathed their last in that very spot, and their brother roots, of entities still living, still scratching out an existence in the empty lot. They began to feed.

And the tooth took hold and fed, as well.

# # #

“Girl, what deh hell happen to you face?” Sally huffed, picking industriously at a small pile of cigarette butts in her skirted lap. She was harvesting bits of unused tobacco. She smiled, as many gaps as teeth in her mouth. “Pretty soon, you look like me. Sad day, dat.”

Rose snorted and dropped to the sidewalk, joining Sally. They both sat, side by side, watching the sporadic, furtive commerce on the square. Dealers cruised door to door, ever watchful for the double cross. Rival gangs kept an uneasy distance from each other, working their respective sides of the street. Most windows stayed shuttered, holding the light inside.  A riot of multi-ethnic aromas drifted from the neighborhood kitchens, homes and restaurants, both. The dinner hour was coinciding with the dusk that evening. Early summer. Rose’s loneliness seeped up from her bones, memories screening behind her eyes. Mama. She sniffed quietly, careful not to change expression.

“T'inking about you mama, yeah,” Sally patted her roughly between her shoulder blades. “Poor girl. Grow up so alone, only way you know.”

Her eyebrows jumped a bit, but otherwise displayed no outward reaction. Brushing the street dust from her pants legs, Rose gathered herself. She prepared for the night’s work, her eyes guarded.
“You hungry, Sal?”

“Naw. I good. You off, den?” She rolled her brown eyes up to the girl’s face. “Take care, girl. You watch for deh bad men.”

“Always, Sal.” She hunched her shoulders and strode to the edge of the square, pausing to glance back, the weight of the pipe pulling on her jacket. Sally’s patchwork shawl fluttered in the slight breeze, the different colors shifting as she continued working with her hands, more by feel than by sight. She could hear her humming to herself, a folk song she recognized but to which she didn’t know the words. Another picture to store away, to keep her a part of the world. Such as it was.

###

Rose paused outside the entrance to the alley. The stench greeted her like a diseased whore, inviting her in with a lewd turn of the hip. She took a deep breath, and ventured in from the relative safety of the streetlights. Deadened eyes rolled her way, as she stepped carefully, weaving her way around the many limbs and torsos splayed along the alley. Some twitched as if animated by remote, some lay still in a final display of empty despair. A few reached out half-heartedly, lost in their stupor. The shadows did their best to swallow the remains whole.

They lived as storage for the drugs eating their bodies, shielded from the elements by slats of cardboard, scraps of cloth. The ones who had managed to keep hold of their shoes hadn’t been around long enough to blend into the morass of animal filth. They still filtered the world through human eyes, still felt the attachment to civilized trappings. They’d fade soon. No one escaped from this side of the world.

Most kept their faces covered, the irony of which didn’t escape Rose. The Heads. She’d be quick, in and out within a few minutes. If she came out at all. She shifted her gaze, hitting checkpoints, guarding her back. The Brain was in back, protected.

The meat at the door sneered her way, chin up, eyes like stone. Rose paused, taking in the square footage of his bulk.

“Hey, Ox.” She raised her fist in solidarity, then fingered the silk of his wrap. “Get a raise?”

“Heh.” He shifted for her to pass. “Watch yourself.”

Great. She’s in a mood. Moods like hers left people bleeding out in the gutter. Rose took a breath, rolled her shoulders as her eyes adjusted to the gloom inside the warehouse. Incense wafted past, leaving an oily residue behind her eyes. Oh, yeah. Gotta make this fast. She felt her way through the heavy curtain.

The room was dim but for several oil lamps, and the meager light filtering through the entrance curtain. Six guards stood post, evenly spaced around the perimeter. Silk framed the cave-like chamber in muted hues, the lamplight capturing bright points in the fabric.

Stars in the night sky, thought Rose. The scent of burning paraffin left her woozy, the lights bright and slightly off-focus. Rose wondered what else was in the oil.

“You are late, little bitch.” Gravel, thickened with years of opium smoke. “Deal is altered when stipulations not met. Grovel, and I may let you keep your eyes.”

Rose sank to her knees, facing the floor, her hands extended in supplication. “Mistress Yu-zhen, please forgive my tardiness. I mean no disrespect.”

She peered down from her perch, legs folded beneath her, tiny feet bound and hidden. Layered silk robes in bright reds and yellows fanned out around her, covering the mound of pillows she rested on. A queen, laden with eggs. Her long jet hair twisted in labyrinthine coils. Her eyes expressionless, but for avarice. Yu-zhen grunted.

“Bah. Get up, girl. What you got tonight?”

Rose exhaled through her lips, relaxing into the exchange. “Mistress, I bring to you authentic poppy, from the outer territory. Grown wild.” She reached into her pack, drew the crumpled parcel out with a careful hand.

With narrowed eyes, Yu-zhen leaned close. “You lying, girl?”

“Wouldn’t be a smart move, would it?” Rose lifted the wrapping so Yu-zhen could examine the fragile flowers herself. “I value my baby blues.”

Yu-zhen raised her eyebrows, one corner of her painted mouth quirked. She signaled to one of her employees, and a massive brute restrained Rose in a headlock with efficiency, only the slightest pressure on her carotid artery. A dagger blade hovered alarmingly near her right eye, the tip leaving a flickering shadow on her cheek in the firelight.

“You know nothing of value. Pray you never do, impertinent child.”

Her voice silted over Rose, a warning echo in her mind. Rose glanced up and Yu-zhen held her gaze, bird-like eyes bottomless, searching for clues to a puzzle Rose didn‘t know existed. Silver swirls drew her in, seemed to halt her breathing, her heartbeat. Her vision sank into empty black, the silver traces spiraling away, as she fell into another world.

Rose heard the ocean, waves skirting along the sand, advancing and retreating. Salt air gunned her adrenaline. She felt the late-day sun across her shoulders, faded but still warming, and white birds with piercing, staccato cries swooped and hovered above her. Fine sand gave way under her boots. A chill breeze lifted her chopped hair, and she heard a voice. Soon. Goosebumps raised over her arms and back of her neck.

Soon? Soon, and nothing else. But, the voice. The voice she’d heard before. Sounded like--

“My mother,” Rose exhaled, skin flushed. She narrowed her eyes at Yu-zhen. “What do you know of my mother?”

Yu-zhen sat back on her feet, her face still. She said nothing. Her guard held fast, now supporting her more than restraining. But the slim knife edge was still visible on her periphery.

Rose tensed, fists tight, and leaned toward the pillows, but before she gathered herself to rise, the guard tightened his grip. She considered struggling, but Yu-zhen had closed shop. She would gain nothing but injury by pushing. The old woman stilled, eyes closed, face serene. She appeared peaceful, but Rose suspected the gears were churning behind the façade.

She relaxed, opening her fists and shaking the circulation back into her fingers, and spoke over her shoulder. “Okay, Guido. Let me go like a good mook.”

He growled, tightened for a second, but then set her loose. She turned and grinned into his scowl as she shifted the straps to her overalls. He wasn’t too dangerous, as long as the Brain kept to her trance. No point in baiting the lion though, she supposed. Rose made her way back to the entrance, to Ox.

Ox overpaid her slightly for her inventory, an action which could result in his losing not only his standing but the ability to stand altogether. He bowed slightly.

“Watch yourself.”

Rose bowed, and promised to return with more of the poppy.

###

The broken tooth had hours ago disappeared beneath the grass, before the new moon rose.
The earth moved now, granules of soil shifting, a blanket of grime covering something which heaved beneath it, as if some beast struggled to free itself from underground. The sky was star-clustered, the moonlight muted by comparison. Shadows stretched, the field a patchwork of grays and blacks. Local wildlife stood on alert, silenced and wary. A lone crow cawed, lifting off toward safer ground.

And it began.

With a wet, tearing sound, a gash opened up in the topsoil. Through it a large head crowned, formed of roots and earth, small stones and tiny creature carrion, held together by unknown forces. As it rose, the earth ripped farther, voicing protest in rocks scraping against each other, roots shredding from the force of the assault. Hulking shoulders broke through, solid arms wriggling free to assist in the birth. The earthen face was stoic as the entity worked. Steadily, the dark form emerged, and settled on the edge of the gaping hole as if resting from a vigorous swim, swirling its feet in the black current.

The being stood after a moment.  Deep obsidian, the creature was visible only in negative to its surroundings. Rising to over eight feet, gauging its balance, it tested a first few steps. Loose dirt sheeted from it, leaving an outline broken by twigs, clumps of clay, rock edges, root snarls. The head swiveled about, protruding brow cloaking its eyes in deep shadow.  Observing its point of origin, and the twisted trees, the sparse vegetation, it oriented and set off toward the perimeter fence. Toward town.

###

Rose strode down the broken sidewalk, skimming over larger gaps in the concrete with a light step. She gripped the pipe in her coat pocket. Uneasy, feeling watched, she traveled close to the building. Her gut was an uncanny judge of situations, and tonight she foresaw hostile intentions, and later bicarbonate, if she was lucky.

The street was deserted, the hour being late past curfew. Patrols were her main concern. They announced their jackbooted presence with plenty of advance notice, and Rose knew this neighborhood, had grown up around these skeletal, crumbling high rises. Dozens of empty storefronts to hide in, and even more friends to hide her, should she need the help.

Of course, thieves worked the night. Thieves and worse. They targeted the slow, the uncertain, and Rose was neither. But, the hunters were different. The patrol hired mercenary trackers to bring in the troublesome, slippery outsiders. The hunters were fierce, ruthless, and skilled. She’d be over if they came for her. But she didn’t think she’d made that particular list. In the larger scheme, she was small business. Getting by, but lucky for that much. And under the radar, she was sure.

Tonight she had a destination in mind, but she wanted backup. She was getting her damned blade back.

Rose paused at the next corner, checking over her shoulder briefly before stepping onto the darkened side street. An uneven shack wedged between two larger buildings, taking advantage of the support and protection from the elements. Light crept out from under the door, and Rose eased closer. Listening, she raised her fist to knock, but before she could the door swung open and a gloved hand snatched her inside by the coat front.

“Just what the fuck do you want, dead man?”

In the dim candlelight, Rose felt the tip of what could be a large knife nudging her in the ribs, as a steely hand gripped her by the collar. Her shoes barely grazed the floorboards.

“Uh,” she raised both hands, palms out. “Hey, Jagger. It’s me.”

A pause. “Rosie?” The knife disappeared, and she was lowered enough to carry her own weight, but the hand stayed, moving to grip her shoulder and pull her in for an iron-banded bear hug. “C’mere, girl,” his voice brusque with affection.  And she was enveloped in leather, beard stubble brushing her forehead. He clapped her on the back and eased her into the light. His eyes turned dark.

“What’s wrong with your face?” his voice deepened further. “Who did this?”

“Long story. Okay, short story. Also why I’m here.”

“Ah. You need some muscle.” Not a question.

“If you have time, yeah.” Rose cracked her knuckles. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

Jagger chuckled, and checked his belt. 8-inch trench knife, check. Blade razor sharp on both sides, designed for fighting in close quarters. Throwing blades, set of six, seated in a strap Jagger attached to his belt front left and back right, laying diagonally over his shoulder, across his chest. And an evil-looking short bludgeon, dark with years of hard use, tucked into his waistband at the small of his back. The dark gray iron was tempered by the worn leather rings on the handgrip, stained darker in spots.

He drew on a black leather jacket, doused the lamp, tossed his unfinished dinner into the utilitarian sink, then stepped outside. Rose broke from her reverie and moved to catch up. He was already several feet down the front path to the street, not having bothered to ask which direction they were headed. Rose smiled, and shook her head, lengthening her stride.

“So,” he glanced at her sideways. “Story, please.”

“I’m getting my knife back from Stu. And he’s picked up a partner.” Rose hopped a step to keep with Jagger. “You slow down a sec? With your farking legs, Jag, I swear. They got to me earlier, and I defended myself.”

“You lost your knife?” Jagger scowled. “I taught you better than that.”

“Well, sure, and next time you’re on your back under a couple of goons, I’ll lecture you, too.” Rose’s mouth was a firm line, lips pressed white, eyes grim.
Jagger’s gaze followed her as she pushed ahead, and the silence between them held for several blocks. Until he lost patience. He lunged forward, spinning her to face him.

“Look, little girl,” he pinched her chin between his thumb and fingers. “I don’t know what you’ve been playing at these past two years, but you’re damned lucky to have lasted this long.”

Her eyes lit with hurt rage, her bruises in stark relief against her pale face. She shook free before the gathering tears could spill.

“Playing? You think--” she stormed off a few feet and stopped, her gloved hands pressing her face. Her shoulders shuddered for a moment, then she wiped her eyes roughly. She glared down the street. “I’ve been surviving, you asshole. What did you expect me to do?”

The lump in her throat kept the words soft, hurting as they forced their way from her. She started to walk, again, determined in her stride.

“Doesn’t matter. If you won’t help me, I’ll get my fucking knife back by my fucking self.”

Jagger sighed in disgust, and followed at a distance. Damn her pride. She’s gonna get herself killed.

Rose kept her back stiff for most of the trek, slowing only when the scenery began to change. Still furious, she became cautious as well, noting the even more dilapidated condition of the buildings in this neighborhood. The faded paint, broken windows, dead trees mirroring the broken spirits of the people around them. Roaming strays worked around the edges, worrying unidentified carcasses. She hoped they hadn’t been people, at one time.  Rotting garbage lay strewn in the gutters, and the stench of fresh feces laying in the open clogged her senses. She tried not to look too deeply into the alleyways, one time almost seeing furtive, repetitive movements between two people, one of them on their knees in front of the other. She could hear a woman sobbing from one of the open windows in a nearby building. Despair is feeding on these forgotten souls. Her shoulders rounded, her steps slowed. Loneliness and self-pity struck her hard under her ribs, pangs with which she was familiar. What’s the point? Even if I do get what’s mine, what then? Tears slowly trickled from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks to drip onto her shirt. She uttered no sobs, her crying quiet.

Jagger came from behind, and without speaking draped a leather thong around her neck, a colored stone set in silver dangling from it. The stone was a smooth scarlet, and felt warm on her flesh. Must’ve been under Jagger’s shirt.

“Wha--”

Jagger held his hand against her mouth, cutting her off. He shook his head, mouthing for her to stay silent. He gestured for them to continue, his own eyes solemn.

As they walked, side by side but not touching, Rose felt better. Calm. The stone remained warm against her skin, the heat emanating from it in waves. Each pulse spread through her a sense of well-being she hadn’t had for years. She hadn’t felt this hopeful since . . .

“Jagger,” she murmured.

“Soon. Just ahead. Stay silent until then.”

She nodded, her hand lifting to fold itself around the stone for added reassurance. They were almost trotting as they rounded the last corner, the streetlights shifting to a moderate glow, the apartments in the surrounding buildings seeming more cheerful somehow. The sounds of the neighborhood resumed, children laughing, someone strumming a lively tune on their guitar.

He slowed, then pulled Rose into a doorway. He nodded.

“What happened? And what is this?” she asked, lifting the leather thong, the stone all but shining in the indirect light.

“We hit a clouding. They’ve been around. Lately, though, they‘ve been growing.”

She arched a brow. “A clouding.”

Jagger said nothing, but looked at her in the glow of the stone. His eyes traveled her features, noting slight differences since he’d seen her last, almost two years ago. Some from scars, some from her maturing. She was beautiful, he realized. Her blue eyes bright with spirit, expressive mouth which tended to quirk at the corners, jet black hair framing her heart-shaped face. Old man, what are you doing?

“So, what’s this then?” She lifted the stone to eye level, a bit unnerved by Jagger’s scrutiny. She held his stare, then shifted back as his eyes lowered to her mouth. She licked her lips, noticing they’d gone dry, and felt something inside draw tight as he watched her do it.

“Jagger?” she squeaked, too tense to exhale properly. He’d not changed in the last few years, still rough. Still hard around the edges. But looking closer, Rose saw his center, felt how lonely he’d been. His eyes, while piercing, drew her in as well. He’d missed her, and he didn’t miss easily. She reached to lay her hand along his cheek, to lightly brush his eyelashes with her thumb, and that broke the spell. He blinked, then leaned away. He cleared his throat.

“That stone is special. It’s a ruby, but Rose, it belonged to your mother,” he looked her in the face when she gasped. “Time I passed it on to you.”

Rose’s heart lurched, and she could do nothing but hold the precious necklace against her chest. She felt the stone’s rhythm match her heart’s, and wonder spread over her face.

“I can feel her. I can feel her. Oh, God.” Her smile was brilliant. And fleeting. Her forehead creased between her brows. Her eyes, when they lifted, were suspicious. Casting blame. Her jaw clenched.

“Oh, no. Don’t you look at me like that,” Jagger leaned in close and captured her lips in a brief, soft kiss. “I’ll tell you the whole story. I will,” when she started to shake her head. “Right now, we’ve got business to take care of.”

They stepped back into the street, checking both directions first for potential trouble, and resumed their mission.

“Jag? The kiss, was that…”

“We’ll talk about that, too.”