Lise by DM Arnold (android based ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“This part is deserted even by novonids,” Tagg replied.

They turned a corner. Tagg pushed open a rusted gate in a stone wall. A city-block- sized park, overgrown with waist-high brush lay beyond. He led her down a flagstone path.

“This is spooky, Tagg.”

“It's fine,” he replied.

“Yiiii!” Lise shrieked as a many-footed arthropod the size of her forearm scurried across the path.

“They're harmless. Over this way -- there's the old viaduct. That might be a good setting.”

Lise followed him as he pushed through the scrub. They arrived at the ruins of the viaduct. He gestured to a caved-in stone arch.

“Pose on that,” he said. Lise stripped off her bandeau top and started to remove her shorts. “You can leave those on,” he said. “I'll sketch you from the waist up.”

She climbed onto a fallen chunk of concrete. “How do you want me to pose?”

“Kneel... Now, arch your back and hold yourself up with your arms ... lean back and look up... Perfect!”

Tagg sat on a rock and began sketching. “This is great, Lise. I'll call this series Scenes from the Zone.”

“This is really uncomfortable,” she replied.

“Who said good art is easy?” Tagg continued to sketch. “Okay, done.”

Lise sat up and rubbed the insides of her elbows. “Let's see.” Tagg showed her the drawing. She nodded with approval. “Now what?”

“How many should we do?” Tagg asked.

“At least three more.”

“Hmm... Sit on that stone.”

“Like this?”

“Yes -- hug your knees.” Tagg looked from several angles. “Put your left hand down ... and your left leg. I want to see one of your breasts.”

Lise giggled. “What is this doing for you, Tagg?”

“Seeing you like this really gets my artistic juices flowing.”

“I'll bet it's getting some juices flowing.”

“Admit it, Lise. You like doing this, too.”

“I do. There is something sexy about it.”

Tagg walked back and forth. “You look great from here.” He stood and sketched. “How long can you hold that pose?”

“For a while.”

“I'm going to put in more background. You really do dress up that old viaduct, Lise.” He sketched more. “Done.” He showed her the drawing.

“That's very nice. I like how you have the brush in the foreground. You're getting better and better, Tagg.”

“For the next one, I want you to stand with your back to me.” Lise complied and stood before one of the viaduct's arches. “Turn toward me a little... bring your shoulder back...” He leaned to the left and to the right. “That's good.”

“Is this one from the waist up, too?”

“No -- it's full-figure.”

“Shall I take my shorts off?”

“No -- I can get your ass right.”

“TAGG!” She laughed.

Tagg finished the sketch and showed it to her. “What do you think?”

“It's the best one yet. Where should we do the next one?”

“I don't know... Let's walk this way.”

Lise accompanied him to the end of the park holding Tagg's hand and carrying her bandeau. “This part of the Zone certainly is deserted,” she remarked. “I feel like you and I are the only survivors of a dead city.”

They encountered a high chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Beyond the fence was a savanna of scrub and native pomma. A four-legged beast with a long ostrich neck grazed. It raised its head, turned and looked their way and resumed feeding.

“The city just stops here,” Lise remarked.

“Yes, and way yonder are the pomma farms.”

Lise scanned the pomma savanna and the broad vista of open sky overhead. “Look!” she said, pointing skyward, and Tagg's eyes followed her gesture. A large, winged creature made lazy circles overhead as it rode the thermals arising from the open fields. She worked her fingers through the chain-link. “Is this fence to keep us inside or the animals out?”

“Both, I think.”

“It looks like nothing... Nothing but scrub as far as the eye can see.”

“Lise!” Tagg pointed toward the woods.

“What?”

“I saw someone.”

“Where?” Lise folded her arms across her breasts.

“Over there in the woods... He's gone now. Lise! It was a feral.”

“A feral novonid? No, Tagg -- they don't live around here. They live in the woods between the pomma farms. There are tales of tribes of them living in the far north.”

“That's what it was,” Tagg replied. “I didn't see a registration mark. That must be what the fence is for -- to keep ferals out of the city.”

“The whole city isn't behind a fence, Tagg.”

“No -- but the Zone is. Think about it, Lise. A feral wouldn't dare come into the white parts of the city. They might seek shelter here in the Zone, though. I've heard whites in the country have started hunting ferals. Maybe a tribe of them headed toward Vyonna to avoid the hunters.”

“If that's what it was -- it's really something,” Lise mused, “spotting a feral. I don't think my folks ever saw one -- not even when they were on the farms.”

“I've heard stories, too,” Tagg said. “They escaped from the farms and live in the woods and hedgerows ... whole families of them. They eat small animals -- like that decapod we saw in the park.

“Eeeew.” Lise shuddered. “Don't remind me.” She turned from the fence. Tagg slipped his arm around her and she leaned against him.

“Come this way.” Tagg led her down a crumbled sidewalk. “Let's look in here.” He pushed open the door to an abandoned hotel.

They walked into what was the lobby and past a bank of lifts long ago out of order. He led her past a lounge and through a doorway to a corridor of guest rooms.

Tagg picked a room and pushed open the door. The windows had been smashed out. He picked his way through the broken glass.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he said, “and lean against the wall near the window.” He began sketching. “Turn your face and look out the window. Don't smile ... look serious ... sad even, if you can manage it. Perfect.”

Lise looked out onto the empty, overgrown street.

“Done!”

Lise stepped to him and looked at his drawing. “Tagg! This is amazing. I look like some abandoned youth, living all by myself in a broken building.”

“It's about how we live.”

“How we live isn't nearly this dreary. It's a powerful picture, Tagg -- one with a message.”

“Shouldn't art have a viewpoint? Can't it make a political statement? I'm just getting going, now. Why don't you get on your hands and knees on that bed?”

“That bed must've been collecting dust and grime for a hundred years.” She climbed onto it. “Like this?”

“Yes ... No -- I have a better idea. Lie on your stomach and make it look like you're just getting up.”

“For this one I think I should be totally nude...” She slipped off her shorts and lay on the mattress.

“That's it ... now, grasp for something. That's it -- you're down and hurt and reaching for a helping hand.”

He began sketching.

“This is the most political one of them all,” Lise said. “Maybe if your constable friend sees this one, she won't let you sketch in the park any more.”

“There. Look.”

Lise sat up on the mattress. Tagg sat beside her and showed her the drawing. She nodded. “Yes, it's very good.”

“Maybe I should put tears on her face...”

“No -- don't. I think that would be too much.”

Tagg tilted his head one way and the other. “I think you're right.”

Lise threw her arms around him and kissed his cheeks. “Tagg -- you're such a brilliant artist!” She kissed his lips. “I love you.”

He put down the sketchpad, then embraced and kissed her. She felt his tongue against hers.

She sat on his lap. “I know why you picked this room,” she said.

“I didn't know the bed was in here.”

“Should I believe that?”

“It's the truth...”

She caressed his shoulders and arms; then lay on her back.

Tagg lay beside her. They began kissing and caressing each other.

She ran her fingers across his chest. Here, Tagg ... gently... That's it. Go slow... No need to rush.”

“This feels good, Lise. You're so beautiful...”

“It feels good to me, too. Do it just like that for a while. Mmm...” She closed her eyes and pulled her shoulder blades together. “Remember, Tagg -- a girl needs more time than a boy. It's worth it... Mmm... both hands like that...” Lise felt her body go limp. Tension drained from her muscles and built in her pelvis. She hooked her arm around Tagg's neck and brought his ear to her breast.

“Your heart's pounding, Lise.”

“Mmm...” She coaxed him onto his back, knelt astride his thighs and began unfastening the waistband of his shorts. “Ow!” she exclaimed.

“What was it? What's wrong?”

“My knee hit something hard -- a lump under the mattress.”

“What is it?”

He climbed off the bed and helped her lift the mattress. Underneath was a projectile weapon -- a handgun.

“Tagg!”

“Don't touch it.”

“Someone else HAS been here.”

Tagg hopped off the bed and forced open a dresser drawer. “Look...” He pointed to a cache of knives. He opened another drawer.

“What are these?” she asked. From a pile she withdrew a short section of chain. “There must be dozens of these.”

“I've never seen anything like this.”

“Tagg -- I don't think it's a good idea for us to stay here.”

“I think you're right.”

She pulled on her shorts and bandeau and adjusted it across her breasts. Tagg picked up his sketchpad and led her to the corridor. She heard voices.

“This way,” Tagg whispered and led her down the corridor. He tested the knobs on the doors to other rooms, but couldn't open any.

He ducked into a stairwell at the far end of the corridor and pulled Lise in with him. She peered around the corner.

Three novonid men stepped into the room they had been using. She could hear them talking and laughing but couldn't discern the words.

One of them stepped into the corridor holding something and faced in her direction. Lise ducked behind the corner. She heard a loud pop and a ceiling lamp at the end of the corridor exploded, showering her and Tagg with shards of glass.

“Well, that one works,” she heard him say.

“Where did you get it?”

“I took it off that bounty hunter we found prowling the Zone. He won't need it where he is.”

The voices grew distant, then distinct again. Finally they trailed off.

Lise cowered with Tagg in the silence. They looked into each other's faces. “Is it safe?” he whispered.

She poked her head around the corner. “I think they've gone.” She stepped into the corridor and flicked shards of glass from her skin.

“Be careful,” Tagg said. “They're sharp.”

They crept down the corridor and ducked back into the room. Lise picked up the mattress and saw a second pistol had joined the one they had found. She pulled open the drawer and picked up one of the lengths of chain. “Let's get out of here.”

“I'm with you,” Tagg replied. Lise headed toward the old lobby. “No -- not that way -- this way.”

Tagg led her into another stairwell and out an emergency exit. He grabbed her hand and they began running down the crumbling sidewalk.

They reached the courtyard. Both had begun to pant from the exertion. Grott lay sunning on the concrete bench. “Father!”

Grott sat up. “Where have you been?”

“Tagg was sketching. Show him, Tagg.”

Tagg handed Grott the sketchpad. “Hmm... These are good, Tagg. I couldn't do anything like this. That looks like the old viaduct.”

“Yes,” Lise replied.

Grott flipped to the ones in the deserted hotel. “Where did you do these?”

“The deserted hotel at the end of the Zone.”

“I don't want you going down there any more. They say that's where Mott and his gang hide out.”

“Oh, we won't,” Tagg replied.

“Someone hid weapons there,” Lise added. “We saw handguns and knives...” Lise withdrew the length of chain. “And, these.”

“A chain can be used as a weapon,” Tagg noted. He took it from her and attempted to wrap it around his fist. “It's not long enough to use as metal knuckles.”

Grott took it from him. “This is a strike chain.”

“A strike chain?” Lise asked.

“Yes. I saw one at the meeting the other night.” He grabbed the end link and twisted it off. “The links are made to come off easily. Mott's runners will deliver these to the farms. Every night at sundown, the keeper of the chains removes one link from each. When only one link remains -- the next day is strike day. It's how they expect to organize the farms.”

“So they can all strike together without communications,” Lise observed.

“Exactly.” Grott handed the chain back to Lise.

“Who came up with that idea?” Tagg asked.

“It's Mott's invention. Once they fix the day of the strike, Mott will hand chains to his captains, who'll distribute them among his lieutenants, who'll distribute them to the runners and so on until there's one in every barracks.”

“What should we do about the weapons?” Lise asked.

“I'd leave them be. Haven't you heard stories of what goes