by Mark Kelly
“So, you’re here because you want immunity to the bacteria?”
Ethan smiled. “Who would be so foolish as to turn away a gift so precious?”
Hard to argue with that, Simmons thought, but it doesn’t get you to the front of the line. He locked eyes with the soldiers. “I’m done. Make sure he and his friends stay away from Saanvi.”
“That is not the only reason we are here, Professor,” Ethan shouted as the soldiers took him by the arm. “You offer protection to Ushas, but do not confuse protection with love. The daughter of Dyaus needs nourishment. She should be free to greet the new day in the company of those who cherish her for her spirit, not just her ability to heal.”
Abrams was probably right to not be overly concerned, Simmons thought as he watched the man be dragged away. He glanced at his watch. If he hurried, there was still time to see Saanvi before he caught the boat back to the lab.
14
Don’t bother
The row of military houses were all built from the same template in the fifties and sixties, and if not for the small white plaques by the side of the front doors, Simmons would never have been able to tell one house from another. He found number thirty-four—the house Saanvi was living in—at the end of the street on the right.
A formless red brick bungalow, the small house was set back from the road and featured a single leafless maple tree looming over the tiny front yard. Below the tree, a garden rake lay on the ground next to a pile of leaves someone had started to rake, and then stopped.
He strolled up the walkway and knocked on the aluminum screen door.
The sound of heavy, clumping footsteps came from inside the house. The inside door swung open and a short, dumpy woman with streaks of gray running through her hair stared at him suspiciously.
“What?”
“Hi, I’m Tony Simmons, I’m looking for Saanvi. Is she here?”
“Where else would she be?” the woman snapped.
Nice to meet you too, Simmons thought. “Can I see her, please?”
The woman turned and yelled, “There’s someone here to see you.” She gave Simmons a final once-over before walking away and disappearing into a room off the hallway.
Saanvi shuffled down the hallway, slouched over and barely lifting her untied running shoes. The oversized black sweatshirt and gray track pants she was wearing looked like they’d been slept in.
Simmons gave a quick wave and opened the screen door and stepped into the house. “I had a meeting with General Leduc and thought I would stop by and visit. How are you doing?”
“Okay.”
The only possible way she could have said anything less would have been if she’d grunted. He tried a different tack. “So, what’s new and exciting?” he asked, trying to sound upbeat.
She jammed her hands into the pocket of her sweatpants and played with the fabric.
“Nothing.”
Simmons pressed his lips together and forced a smile. “I’m sure there must be something new. Anyway, I wanted to stop and see how you’re doing. Mei wanted to come and visit, but she ran out of time.”
Saanvi’s mouth twisted into a pout. “She never has time. None of you do. Lucia told me you would all come and see me but no one ever does, not even Emma, and she’s supposed to be my friend.”
“Saanvi, I’m sorry, but it’s not like we’re sitting around doing nothing.”
Her lip quivered and Simmons cringed inside as she jammed her hands even deeper into her pockets and stared at the floor. Unsure what he should say, he joined in her silence, afraid that if he said another word, she’d break into tears.
The woman who had opened the door reappeared. “It’s time to go,” she said to Saanvi. “We need to get over to the mess hall for lunch. You know what happens if we’re late.”
“I don’t care if there’s nothing left. I’m not hungry.”
“Well, I am,” the woman said curtly. “We’re leaving in five minutes. Go get ready.” She spun on her heels and walked away.
Sensing an opportunity to make peace, Simmons took a step closer to Saanvi and whispered, “The food here must be a lot better than what we have at the lab because I can tell you no one is ever in a hurry to eat there.”
Saanvi looked at him and scowled. “She only cares about herself. She’s a stupid cow. I wish General Leduc had never sent her to live with me, but I guess no one else wanted the job because I’m too much trouble.”
Simmons sighed. He reminded himself the girl in front of him wasn’t even fifteen-years-old. She was still a child—and acting like it.
“Did you know you’re famous,” he said, trying to cheer her up. “There are people at the gate asking to see you.”
She sniffled. “Really, who?”
Wondering if he should have said anything, he tried to play it low-key. “Just some people who heard about you. They call you Ushas.”
Her eyes widened and she giggled. “They actually called me Ushas? That’s bonkers.”
When he smiled weakly and shrugged, she said, “You don’t know who Ushas is, do you?”
“No.”
“She’s a Hindu goddess. Ushas is the daughter of heaven. They call her that because she’s the glimmer of light in the sky just before the sun comes up. My grandfather used to pray to her to protect our family from evil.
“Professor Simmons, did you know there are a lot of Hindu gods and goddesses? But they all kind of make sense. Ratri is the goddess of night. She’s Ushas’s sister. They’re twins. Ratri protects people while they sleep, and Ushas does the same during the day.”
She stopped talking and bent down to tie her running shoes. Then she popped back to her feet and said, “I have to go down to the gate and see these crazy people. Does Emma know about them? She’d think it’s hilarious…me being called a goddess and all.”
Simmons put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay away from the gate. We don’t know anything about these people. They’re probably not dangerous, but you need to be careful.”
He felt bad for her. Trouble seemed to follow the girl everywhere she went. First the school in Washington, then James O’Neal and King John and his goons. It was as if the price she had to pay for saving the world was living a miserable life.
Saanvi’s chaperone appeared at the end of the hallway. She buttoned a worn khaki green jacket and said, “Let’s go, it’s time to eat.”
“I told you, I’m not hungry, and Professor Simmons is visiting. I haven’t seen him for a very long time.”
Simmons smiled. It hadn’t been that long…a couple of weeks at the most. “Go eat,” he said. “You need to stay healthy and nourished and I need to get back to work.”
“Do you have to leave so soon?” she pleaded. “Why don’t you come and eat with us?”
“I’d love to, but if I miss the afternoon boat, I’ll have to spend the night here.”
“And that would be horrible wouldn’t it?” she yelled at him as her face turned dark. She stormed past him and pushed the screen door open.
“Saanvi, come back and let’s talk, please. At least come back and get a coat. it’s cold outside. I promise I’ll and visit as soon as I can.”
“Don’t bother!” she screamed back at him.
15
A way across
After they left the truck stop, Lucia and Baker travelled east, and then south, moving off the main highway onto the small secondary roads that ran alongside the St. Lawrence River. As they drove, they searched for ways to cross the river into the United States.
On the morning of the third day, they reached the cottage where Michael Otetiani had deposited her and the others five months earlier. Lucia brought her motorcycle to a stop and turned off the engine. Everything looked familiar but nothing looked the same.
“There,” she said and pointed. “That’s where we came across.” What had once been Otetiani’s safe-house was now a burnt pile of lumber on top of a charred concrete foundation. The grass around the house was waist-high
and hadn’t been disturbed in months. Behind the thick curtain of cattails lining the river’s shoreline, she could see the twisted metal wreckage of the large bridge they had almost run into as they raced away from the soldiers who had guarded the border. Otetiani’s high-powered cigarette boat, it’s bow sticking out of the water at a forty-five degree angle, lay half-submerged in the shallow waters.
Baker looked at the boat and slowly shook his head. “Even if we were able to bail it out and get it running, with those massive engines we’d never find enough gas to make more than one trip across and we’ll need to make at least two.” He turned around and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, it was worth a try coming here, but we’ll have to keep looking for another way across.”
“Where?” she asked, disappointment creeping into her voice.
“I have an idea,” he said. “Do you remember which way you came down the river?”
She nodded and pointed east, past the ruins of the bridge.
“Was the river wider or narrower?”
“Much narrower,” she said, curious why he was asking.
“Good, that’s what I hoped you would say. Do you see those transmission lines behind you? They’re part of the electrical grid and they’re big, which means they’re high voltage main lines. I’m almost certain they lead to, or away from, an electrical power generating station.”
She turned and looked up at the wires he was pointing to. They were strung between gigantic metal towers a few hundred yards from the shoreline and ran alongside the river in both directions. But there hadn’t been electricity for months and even if there was, she couldn’t imagine how that would help them cross the river.
“I do not understand why that matters,” she said.
“The river is wide here,” he explained, “but further east, where you and the others crossed, you said it was narrow. That means more water flowing in a smaller area. It’s ideal for generating hydroelectric power, and if we’re lucky, we’ll find a generating station and a dam at the end of those transmission lines. If there’s a dam, we might even be able to drive the bikes across the top of it.”
As he talked, his confidence in the plan grew, but it sounded too obvious to her. She pointed to the ruins of the bridge and said, “The government destroyed the bridge to stop people from crossing, why would they not do the same to a dam?”
“They might have,” Baker answered, “but taking out the dam would mean removing an important source of electrical power. Even with all the steps they took to try and stop the pandemic from spreading, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have gone that far. What do you think? Should we go check it out?”
Still skeptical, she folded her arms across her chest. “You said, if we are lucky, we will find a hydroelectric generating station at the end of the power lines. What if we are not lucky?”
“Then we’ll turn around and come back.”
“All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “But I think we are wasting our time.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said, grinning.
Two days later, they reached the end of the power lines. Baker had been right, but aside from a wink, he didn’t rub it in.
Lucia sat on her motorcycle, gawking at the massive concrete dam that spanned the river. It was four-stories high and half a mile long. Most of the dam’s sluice gates were open, spilling millions of gallons of turbulent, frothing water into the river every minute. It didn’t look like they would be able to ride their motorcycles across the top, but it might be possible to travel through the dam; like the people she saw who were entering and exiting a building attached to it. Some were on bicycles, others walked. She smiled at the sight of a man who was pushing a wheelbarrow with a small child sitting on top of a pile of corn.
Even more surprising than the dam, were the throngs of people buying and selling at the outdoor market next to it. There were more people in one spot than she’d seen since she and Mei had left New York City. Baker joined in her bewilderment. “Where in the hell did all these people come from?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, dazed, and more than a little uneasy. She reached down to her holster and touched the butt of her gun, comforted by its presence.
Baker pointed to a set of well-guarded gates in front of the building attached to the dam. As people exited the building, they were allowed through the gates with barely a glance from the guards, but those entering were stopped and required to hand something over.
Money or a ticket? Lucia thought.
“Could be a toll,” Baker said, seeing the same thing.
He climbed off his bike and grabbed two jars of moonshine from a box in the trailer. “Let’s go to the market and see if we can trade for supplies and get info on how to cross.”
They left their bikes and walked to the edge of the market furthest from the dam. Most of the stalls they passed were the same; a table with a handful of items covered by a tarp to keep the sun and rain away, but a few were nothing more than a ragged blanket on the ground with whatever the stall’s owner had scavenged for sale.
It reminded Lucia of Mercado Colón, the big outdoor market in Santa Ana, and although the languages spoken were English and French and not Spanish, the negotiations were just as animated as back home in El Salvador.
The first stall they stopped at was run by an old woman who looked to be eighty and walked with a painful limp. Standing beside her was a young boy with a clean-shaven head. Based on his missing front teeth, Lucia guessed he was six or seven years old.
As the boy shifted the vegetables on the table from one spot to another, the old woman moved them back and scolded him. Distracted by the child, she ignored Lucia and Baker for a moment, and then pulled up her face mask when they approached.
“Potatoes, squash, pumpkins?” She glanced under the table and said, “I still have a few eggs and a chunk of cheese—but it isn’t cheap…not cheap at all.”
When they didn’t immediately reply to her sales pitch, she added, “It’s all good quality—best you’ll find around here, and it’s not like you can run down to the corner store and get more.”
“The cheese and eggs?” Baker asked Lucia.
She nodded.
The old woman stopped what she was doing. The wrinkles around her eyes tightened as she said, “I told you they were pricey. What do you have to trade?”
Baker held up a jar.
“What is it?”
“Moonshine.”
She scowled and shook her head and glared at the jar in Baker’s hand with a disdain that bordered on hatred. “Not interested…don’t have any use for that. Gold or silver only, but I’ll consider a trade if you’ve got something useful.”
“Not so quick,” a voice called out.
Lucia and Baker turned to find the man with the wheelbarrow standing behind them. His short black hair was speckled with gray. He was in his early fifties with a ruddy complexion and a puffy face.
“Go and play with your brother,” he said, grabbing the boy in the wheelbarrow under the arms and lifting the child out and depositing him on the ground. Then he turned to Baker and said, “How much shine do you have?”
“I thought you were done with that,” the old woman said. “You told me you gave it up for good.”
“It’s not for me, it’s for trading.”
“Hmmph…heard that before. It’s on you,” she replied bitterly. “I don’t want nothing to do with it. Just remember you’ve got these boys to take care of now.” She turned her back on him and stared out at the water.
“Sorry about that,” the man said to Baker and Lucia. “Just some private business that should be kept in the family.” His face tightened with anger and he turned to yell at the old woman. “Ain’t that right, mother?”
The old woman ignored him and hobbled after the two boys who had run to the river’s edge.
“We’re looking for food and information,” Baker said.
The man eyed the jars in Baker’s hands. “You willing to trade fo
r both jars?”
“If the price is right.”
“I’m gonna need to sample—”
Baker shook his head. “Let’s decide on a price first, then you can try it.”
A flicker of disappointment crossed the man’s face. “All right, have it your way.” He pointed to the vegetables on the table. “This is what we got. What do you want?”
“She said you had cheese and eggs.”
“Don’t know,” the man replied with a shrug. He glanced at the old woman. “Unlike her, I haven’t been standing around gossiping all day. I’ve been doing real work.”
I’ll bet, Lucia thought. She imagined her hands around his neck choking him. There was a razor’s edge to her voice when she said, “Why don’t you do more real work and go and check?”
Startled, he stared at her for a second. Then he walked to the other side of the table and bent down. “There’s about a dozen eggs and a half a pound of cheese here,” he said, lifting a box and placing it on the table next to a bucket of potatoes.
“How old are the eggs?” Lucia asked.
“One week…maybe two. The chickens lay ‘em and the boys collect them.” He ignored Lucia and gave Baker an impatient stare. “Do we have a deal or not?”
“Almost. We want to cross the river.”
“Then you’ve got to see the Gatekeeper,” the man said, pointing to a table at the far end of the row of stalls. It was the last table before the guarded gate and had a line of people in front of it. “But if you want to cross, it’ll cost you a pretty penny, and she isn’t interested in stuff like this.”
Eager to get rid of them, he thrust the box of cheese and eggs into Lucia’s hands and took the moonshine from Baker.
“You can’t have that,” the old woman shouted at Lucia as she limped towards the stall. “Half the eggs are for the boys’ dinner tonight.”
“Mind your own business, Mother,” the man said. “It ain’t like the chickens are going to stop laying.”
“There won’t be any more eggs for another day or two,” the old woman protested.