by Orion, W. J.
No kidding? I’m 19. That’s so cool.
So… how are you messaging me? How did you find me?
Do you want the full technical explanation? Or the more simple one?
Somewhere in the middle Trey, please.
I’m pretty smart when it comes to electronics. I was able to get a cell phone tower temporarily powered, and used a computer to boot it up. When it turned on, I found a signal in the tower’s service radius. I wrote some code and messaged the signal. Now we’re talking.
You must be very smart to figure that all out. So my mom’s phone connected to the tower you turned on?
Long story short, yeah. I don’t fully understand it, but I’m glad it worked.
Yeah, me too. Um… how did you power up the tower? That has to take a whole lot of juice.
Electricity you mean?
Yeah. We just call it juice out here.
Juice. That’s funny. I like that. I got the juice from the people who have me.
Have you? What does that mean, have you?
Oh, yeah. About that…
Oh yeah what?
I probably should’ve said something before, but I’m sort of a captive. A hostage if you will.
A hostage? Who captured you?
They call themselves the Monoliths.
Like, Baron Monolith? I heard about him.
Yes. The Baron controls the largest building in the city ruins, and all over the top of it is the cell tower equipment I’m using. He imprisoned me by luck in a control room for the equipment, so after working on it to try and see what would happen… here we are.
Are you safe?
For now. Until tomorrow. Maybe a few days more. I bet I have a week before he does something rash. I imagine it’s a matter of time before he either tires of feeding me, or figures out there’s no ransom coming from my people.
No one is coming to rescue you?
Not unless you decide to rescue me, no.
I’m just a teenage girl. I don’t think I’m the hostage rescuing type.
Don’t know until you try.
Are you asking me to rescue you?
I don’t have anyone else to ask, so yeah, I guess I’m asking you to rescue me.
She sat her mom’s phone down and looked at it like Trey himself sat next to her. The looks she gave the phone was somewhere between an expression of hilarity, and disbelief. Her mother would describe it as being “incredulous.”
Yaz?
Yaz, are you there? Your signal is still there. Maybe you fell asleep.
No, I’m still here. I’m just… a little weirded out by the idea of a complete stranger in the city asking me to rescue him from an army of scavengers. I mean, I don’t know you all that well yet. How do I know this isn’t an elaborate trap?
I suppose it was a bit of a reach.
I can’t blame you for trying.
That’s generous of you.
My mother said at times I could be altruistic.
I hope your mom was right about you.
I hope she was too, Yaz thought to herself.
I’m very tired, Trey. I was hurt the other day and need to rest. Will you be able to talk with me again? Or will you move on and try and find another girl with a cell phone in the desert to rescue you?
LOL.
She waited for more, but he didn’t send anything. She seized the initiative, and hoped for the best.
I take that as a yes…
LOL, no. It’s just you and me. If you can’t rescue me, then I hope you’ll keep me company in my last days.
Of course I will. Mom said I was altruistic, after all. When can we talk again?
How about Trey, at 3:33am? Easy to remember.
Sure. That sounds good. It was nice to meet you, Trey. I mean, nice to talk to you.
Yeah. I’m glad you answered my text, Yaz. Thank you. We’ll talk tomorrow?
Yeah, goodnight.
Goodnight.
Yaz sat her mom’s phone down on the bed beside her pillow and stared at it until the screen went black again. She giggled in spite of the sudden darkness. She laughed a tiny noise and put her head on the pillow. Without thinking she snapped up her mom’s phone and opened the messaging app. She saw the message from 333-333-3333 and hit “add contact.” She typed in Trey and hit save.
Now he was a part of the record. He had a name, and was a contact, just like all the other contacts her mom had before the crabs came.
The idea of talking to the strange boy named Trey the next night excited her like nothing had.
Yaz fell asleep, but it took her a good long time of daydreaming before her mind gave up the racing thoughts of her very own contact. In a stroke of luck, she never thought about the fact he might be dead in a few days.
Chapter Ten
You’re a Good Person, Yasmine
As pleasant (and tall) as he was, Dr. Sonneborn made Yaz want to eat sand the next day. Considering how excited she was after talking with Trey, that he made her want to clam up and stare at a wall was saying something. After feeding her some homemade crackers (somewhat tasty) with cool water (very refreshing) for breakfast, he droned on and on about organizing, coding, filing, and making notes on the papers that talked about the residents of Shant. The papers that summed up their collective well-being.
His office proper was clean. Impeccably so. No dust or dirt was on the floor, or the furniture, and the walls were intact. The crab invasion had spared the clinic and in the thirteen years since, neither raiders nor scavengers had come in. Maybe he’d parlayed his medical knowledge into safety, or maybe he had been lucky. Either way, he worked in a clean place, and Yaz was impressed.
He left her in that tidy office, at his pre-invasion wood desk, surrounded by stacks of spiral bound notebooks and loose sheets of stained paper, with a single charged tablet to make it all come together. One by one she tapped on the worn screen of the tablet and created detailed files for each resident, and added in all of their illnesses, treatments, medications taken, family connections, pets and a multitude of other little facts for the doctor to remain on top of his job.
She was able to find some distraction in the mountain of information about the people she had watched through the zoom feature of her mom’s phone from up high and afar.
Miss Adelaide had a persistent cough that refused treatment.
Gordon at the gate had recurring plantar warts on his feet, and yet he still took endless shifts standing at the gates.
Rahim who ran the bread booth in the market had heart disease.
And on and on it went until her eyes hurt. Many hours later the good doctor called out for her to join him for lunch in what was probably the office’s break room, and she did.
“Are you normally this spacey?”
“Huh?” Yaz replied after swallowing a piece of the bread from the small loaf she and doctor were sharing.
“You haven’t said a word to me since you came in to eat. I just asked you several questions and you’ve shown no signs of hearing me, and as best I can tell, there’s nothing wrong with your hearing. I can only conclude that you’re distracted by thoughts of something.”
She felt her face redden, and couldn’t find any words to use to explain her situation.
“I guess your brain could be fried from all the reading and learning,” he offered her with a smile that knew too much.
“That’s it. Yeah.”
“Uh-huh,” he said and tore off another bite of bread with his fingers. He tossed it in his mouth and chewed on it. “I talked with Brent while you were working this morning.”
“You did?” she asked, now interested. “What did you guys talk about?”
“He’s trying to assemble a town meeting to talk about your crab encounter. Tonight after sundown. He wanted me to ask you if you would be willing to tell the people your story. I’d like to hear it myself.”
A chill ran up and down her spine. She shivered and shook her head. Too many people would be there for her to…
“Thank you,” she said, ashamed.
“Yeah. So, any questions about the work you’re doing? You must have questions.”
“Not really,” Yaz said to him. She saw the disappointment on his face and searched for something to ask. “Actually, yeah,” she said and he perked up. “Where are you getting your medicine? I see many people take it from time to time. I never pick it in the wastes for you. Who is your supplier?”
“Great question,” he said. “We get caravans through her once a month, give or take. You’ve seen them. Carts being pulled by donkeys. A herd of people on bicycles. Various shapes and sizes. Handful of guards and scavengers typically. They come and go into the city, scavenging what they can, ducking and dodging the raiders and crab patrols. I get most of my medicine from them. Every once in awhile I’ll do business with that loner Trader Joe, international man of mystery. Meet him yet?”
“No. They probably charge you an arm and a leg,” she assessed.
“Quite literally sometimes. I’ve had to amputate more than once for them. Gangrenous wounds, et cetera. They do valuable work and many people would be dead were it not for them. Same as what you do, they just do it on a larger scale. Teams of pickers, not just a teenage lady with a fireman’s axe.”
“It’s called a halligan tool,” she corrected.
“Nonetheless… that’s your answer. Well, that and you’d be surprised how many people hoarded medicines after the crabs landed. Pharmacies raided, medicine cabinets looted, you name it. There are more medicines in the hidey holes of Shantytown’s surrounds than I’ll ever know,” he said and laughed. “Of course some of the weird medicines we could use more of, but the rare pills are hard to come by. Same as the ones everyone wants. Those are hard to find, too”
“Like what?” she asked, now genuinely interested in the answer.
“Basic painkillers and fever reducers are still obtainable. Acetaminophen, ibuprofen, that stuff. Made in great quantities,” he explained. “Antibiotics are a little tougher to come by. People didn’t keep them in their house just in case. If you had them, you needed them, so you took them. Getting those usually means someone found a hospital, or clinic, or pharmacy.”
“Not many of those places left. Pickers hit those hard when I was a little kid.”
“They did. Now that stuff trades for top water. Same as vitamins. Those were all used up before the end of the war. In the decade since you can’t find ‘em,” Dr. Sonneborn said. “We could really use nebulizers. Insulin for the Type One diabetics. Brent and Kim’s son Owen for example. He’s got asthma, and without an inhaler one of these days, he’s a goner. Prosthetics as well. “
“I didn’t know that about Owen,” she said, worried about the family she just had dinner with. “I’ve heard of those medicines. Albuterol, right? My aunt on my dad’s side had that stuff. I never met her. She died during the war.”
“Lotta people died fighting the crabs. I’m sorry about your aunt. Believe it or not, we could really use Epsom salts. Not much of that around. It’s good for a dozen different medical issues. Asthma, heart attacks, high blood pressure, constipation, cramps. Good stuff.”
“Maybe I’ll keep an eye out for inhalers and Epsom salt,” Yaz said, feeling a purpose for her energy coming on.
“And you wonder why people want you to move here,” Dr. Sonneborn said. “You’re a good person, Yasmine. You help others all the time.”
“I like to help,” she said. “I can, so I do it.”
“I would’ve liked to have met your mom and dad. They did good work with you,” the doctor said, somber.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“Enough melancholy. Hector’s coming in for me to check out a cyst on his thigh. I bet I’ll have to drain it. Can you believe people used to watch videos of cysts being drained online? It was a thing, you know.”
“That’s gross.”
“People are gross,” he said.
“Crabs are gross.”
“Never met one, but I’ll take your word for it. You’re the expert around here now,” he said with a laugh.
“That’s sad. We’ll never beat the crabs if I’m the best we got.”
“We’ll never beat the crabs, period. Yaz the war is over. We lost. They took the water and left us with the piles of dirt and rubble. All we have now is waiting for the last of them to leave. Then at least we can try to eke out an existence and start over as best we can.”
“That’s not good enough,” she blurted. “That’s not enough at all. We have to keep fighting, don’t we? I mean, what if we beat them?”
Dr. Sonneborn leaned forward, putting his elbows on his desk, one on each side of the bread they were sharing. He started to say something, but changed his mind and said something else instead.
“Yasmine, they aren’t here to occupy us, or exterminate us. With their electricity weapons or plasma weapons, and ships in the sky, and their mechanized armor, we’re no match for them. We weren’t a match for them when the world was at its pinnacle and we sure as hell aren’t now. They laughed at our guns, they laughed at our planes, and they even laughed at our nuclear bombs. No one’s laughing anymore. They’re here to take the water, and leave. And Yaz, they’ve taken most of it. To where I don’t know, but it ain’t the Midwest.”
“What if we could get the water back?”
“Yasmine, if you can figure out how to get the water back, then we can talk about how you beat the crabs and got it done.”
“It’s a deal.”
Chapter Eleven
The, “Getting to Know You,” Phase
Not even a little bit of Yaz wanted to attend the town meeting Brent put together. Just the idea of being in the presence of so many aware, attentive people made her skin crawl. To actually stand in front of them, and talk to them nauseated her.
Not because she didn’t like people, or because she was nervous, or because she was afraid to do it, but because… well… that was it. Because it was scary. What would they think of her? What would they say? Would they believe her? Would they laugh at her when she looked away? What if, what if, WHAT IF?
People.
Best to eat a small dinner, drink a nice gulp or two of water from a plastic cup that had long lost its colorful print, and get some rest.
3:33am came quick, after all.
Yasmine was already awake when Trey’s first message arrived in her mom’s inbox.
Hello Yasmine.
Hello Trey.
Did you have a good day?
It was busy. I had to do a lot of stuff I didn’t really want to do, but I owed someone.
That’s a bummer. At least you aren’t being held against your will.
I’m sorry, how are you faring with that?
I’m okay for now. The Baron was pleasant earlier when he came to check on me. He likes showing me off to a few of his friends like I’m a trophy. It’s sad.
That’s so strange. What’s he like?
Big. Wears police body armor. He also has a tan cape, and his skin is covered in tattoos. He’s a villain, but he keeps his people fed and watered.
Sounds scary.
He can be frightening. He scares me. Well, I’m scared of what he’ll do to me when he bores of me. I’m more than a little worried about his personal army of scavengers and soldiers too.
I’m scared for you.
Decide to rescue me yet?
Jury’s still out, Trey. I’m pretty busy right now so…
It’s always something.
True. Tell me how you were captured.
I was with a group of my people in the city. We were searching for information and supplies. The Monoliths ambushed us. I was the only survivor, and they grabbed me.
Did you lose any family? Friends?
Friends. Good souls.
I’m really sorry, Trey.
Me too. All we were
trying to do was help people.
Did they attack you for your stuff?
Not really. My people have had an adversarial relationship with the Baron’s people since day one. They’re always attacking us. They think we’re going to keep everything we find.
Do you ever attack them?
We never did, though I’m sure the Baron’s soldiers get into fights with people who they think are allied with us. It sucks. Caught in the crossfire.
Don’t get me wrong, Yaz. When we’re attacked, we fight back if we can’t escape. We’ve killed, but we all wished we hadn’t.
That’s why I don’t go to the city. Too dangerous. Not enough supplies left to risk my life over.
Are you kidding? There are so many pockets of supplies here. That’s what my group did. We’d liberate all the loot we could and get it to the people who needed it.
Did your group ever come across medicines? Albuterol? Epsom salt? Antibiotics? We need those bad out here.
Most medicines are expired, Yaz. Too old to be much good.
Still. Even weak meds help.
That’s mostly true.
Sooooo….?
Oh, yeah, I’ve seen that stuff. Not a ton, but it’s out there.
Well if you can remember a fairly safe place where I can find some of it, that’d be sweet.
Is it dire? Is someone dying? It’s not you, is it?
No, it’s not me. Just… some people here need meds. I like to help people.
We have a lot in common, Yaz.
Seems it.
Can I ask you a weird question?
I reserve the right to lie in my answer if it’s really weird.
LOL.
Ummm… I’m embarrassed to ask, but what do you look like?
Not that remarkable, really. I look like everyone else I know.
Boo, boring.
I hate talking about what I look like.
Why? You’re a person just like the rest of us.
I wouldn’t quite say that. I’m very different.
Are you short? Tall? What color is your hair?
You really want to know? Like, REALLY?