Dog Blood

him, but all that does is make him move faster. He stops midway out of the door-just beyond the reach of my chains-and turns back to face me.
    “Boss man,” he says simply. Now he’s definitely playing games again, feeding me just enough detail to keep my interest, then clamming up and leaving me dangling. It’s all he’s got left. Other than these physical chains, information is the only advantage remaining. If he was any closer I’d rip his fucking throat out. He pulls the door shut, but then stops and opens it again. “Wait. There’s something I forgot to tell you.”
    “What?”
    “Your daughter…”
    “You found her?!”
    I can’t hide my sudden interest and emotion. Please tell me something…
    “No,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve got to understand, Danny, information’s hard to come by these days. You learn more from what you’re not told than from what you’re told. The Central System is creaking under the weight of what’s happened and-”
    “Tell me!”
    He sighs and takes a deep breath, drawing it out as long as he can.
    “There’s good and bad news.”
    “Give me both.”
    “The bad news is there are no records of her anywhere.”
    “So how can there be any good news?”
    “Can’t you see, that is the good news. It means she might not be dead.”
    “She might not be dead… that’s all you can tell me?”
    “Be thankful for small mercies, Danny. As far as I know, my daughter’s still lying on the kitchen floor with a bloody hole where her face used to be. I could have been standing here telling you the date your girl died and where they burned her body. As it is, you’ve still got some hope. What you do with it is up to you.”
    He slams the door shut and locks it.

vi

SIX A.M. SANDWICHED BETWEEN two heavily armed military jeeps and chaperoned by columns of soldiers and militia fighters, several hundred displaced refugees were led out along Arley Road. With no regard for personal preferences, friendships, partners, or relatives, specified numbers of individuals were filtered off toward each building. No one resisted or complained. They were too tired and too scared to show any defiance or opposition to what they were being told to do. Their choices were stark: put up with it or fuck off and take your chances on your own. And anyone who dared show any resistance to the military would be on the street with a bullet in the head. Public order had to be maintained.
     
    ***
     
    “But there’s no more room in here,” Mark protested, blocking the door of room 33. “I told them last night-”
    Uninterested, the soldier shoved him out of the way and forced his way in.
    “What’s the problem?” Kate asked, getting up from the end of the bed and standing in his way, instinctively wrapping her arms around her pregnant belly, cradling and protecting her unborn child.
    “There’s no problem,” he answered quickly, his tired, gruff voice muffled by his face mask. “New roommate for you, that’s all.”
    “But that’s crazy! We don’t have enough space as it is. How are we supposed to-”
    The soldier put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down onto the bed, then turned and walked back toward the door again, pausing only to sidestep Mark. Mark knew there was no point trying to argue; at best he’d just be ignored, at worst he could be accused of being a Hater and “removed.” Kate chased after the officer, far less concerned about the potential repercussions of her outburst. Behind her, her parents sat up to try to see what was happening. Her father, weakened by age, fear, and malnutrition, simply lay back again when he couldn’t see anything, too tired to care. Her mother, once an intelligent, demure, and gentle woman, balanced on the end of the bed half naked, screaming like a banshee.
    “There’s enough of them in here already. We don’t want more. You take them and find somewhere else for them to go. You can’t…”
    Kate ran back to silence her, leaving Mark at the door to placate the soldier.
    “Gurmit Singh,” the trooper announced as he shoved an elderly Asian man into the room. Singh protested with a high-volume, high-speed torrent of Punjabi, which was neither understood nor acknowledged by anyone. A battered leather carryall was thrown into the room after him, containing the sum total of his worldly possessions. He tripped over the bag, almost losing his light-orange-colored turban in the process, then turned around and continued