When the River Ran Dry

by Robert Davies

  Broad, concrete tunnel entrances yawned like patients in an asylum—grotesque and fixed—angling gently downward from the surface toward the cavernous factory districts below. The infrastructure of a megalopolis occupied an underground world few above took the time to consider and even less had ever seen. Within a vast network of chambers and connecting tunnels, the machinery that made electrical power and clean water (or treatment facilities for the reeking muck a population in the millions produced every hour) intertwined with dozens of factories and specialized fabrication shops, each a small city of heavy industry unto itself. The trucks and transporters pulled finished products to the surface, exchanging their cargoes for raw material required to feed hungry furnaces and production lines where a swarming army of workers buzzed ‘round the clock to keep up an endless, steady pace. Pale and forever perspiring, ‘moles’ did the things no one above could tolerate, keeping alive the steady pulse of a society that preferred not to notice.

  Half-way up the sides of each tunnel, pedestrian foot-walks clattered under the constant traffic and Ricky motioned Litzi toward one of them. At once, they felt the rush of outflow air hurrying from the depths and with it, sudden, welcome relief from the heat. As they started down the sloping ramp, Litzi gripped the handrail tightly as others moved past them, uncaring or indifferent. Beneath them, geared rails set into the tunnel’s floor, like parallel cogs of a funicular, allowed massive transporters to claw their way up the long incline, clunking in measured time with an endless rumble. She avoided the eyes of others from a desperate, irrational fear one or two might be looking for her. Ricky noticed and tried his best to reassure, but there was little he could say to take away the building dread pushing her as they descended ever deeper.

  At last, they reached the first sub-level where the offices, stores and shops clung to wide, elaborate balconies constructed of wrought iron. It looked to her no different than a new mega-tower under construction; an open framework of metal beams and cross-members rising up from the bedrock floor far below. More tunnels moved the swarm of humanity to and from their work spaces or habitat blocks like insects in a hive; here, a different reality guided the ones who shunned life on the surface. Days were filled with the processes of industry and nights passed by in clubs and bars where the edges of a rough existence could be smoothed with a glass of Topaz or the intoxicating hemp smoke from public hookahs. It was a simple way of life that appealed to moles and kept them from the scrutiny of those who went about their mysterious business far above. Here, one had only to work and recreate; all other considerations were distant and meaningless.

  On the high balconies, brightly lit storefronts with gaudy displays and programmed light shows made for an unexpected cheerfulness Litzi stopped for a moment to regard. The better shops beckoned with grand water cascades that wandered down the rock face of the cavern in carefully cut troughs, only to be returned above through hidden pumps and piping manifolds to repeat the process in an endless cycle. Ricky waited with her, knowing it was her first time underground and she watched as moles crowded past her without a discernable difference from those shoppers in any sector mall on the surface. Except for the interesting and often outlandish attire, or the application of too much makeup on faces that rarely saw sunlight, the ones she and Ricky once called ‘dirt eaters’ were not unlike the people in their own apartment blocks.

  At last, Ricky’s comm unit buzzed. He listened to the message and nodded with a smile.

  “My friend is home from work; we can go down now.”

  “Who is this friend of yours?” Litzi frowned.

  “His name is Nathan Gault, but everyone down here calls him ‘Natty.’ I’ve known him for a long time and he’s one of the few people I can trust.”

  Ricky aimed Litzi toward an open-cage lift.

  “How do you know this guy?” she asked as they worked their way through a crowd, moving slowly against the traffic flow.

  “I got some expensive stuff for him years ago; things he could never afford on his pay, and he’s done me a lot of favors ever since. He’s a decent guy, Litzi; you don’t have to be afraid, okay?”

  She smiled sadly and said, “I don’t want to know what kind of ‘expensive stuff’ you found for him, do I?”

  “It’s not what you think,” Ricky replied; “just medicine for his kid. She had a bad time with lung infections, but the clinics down here aren’t any better than ours and they couldn’t do anything about it.”

  “But you could?”

  “The Uppers have really great hospitals. They’re not like ours; treating this sort of thing is routine to them. I managed to get some of the medicine from a client who knows one of the doctors and I gave it to Natty, that’s all.”

  “Nothing is free, Ricky; what did you have to give them in return for this medicine?”

  “The doctor wanted something they don’t allow up above; he offered to trade the medicine if I could get what he needed.”

  “What did he need?”

  “That is what you don’t want to know about.”

  When the lift reached the fourth sub-level, it had gone noticeably quiet. The dimly lit air was cool and Litzi felt her senses come alive in anticipation as they walked along a row of numbered doors, each painted in dull, matte red, stopping at #407. Beyond the balcony behind them, the cavernous underground compound descended another three levels to where the factory entrances waited, alive with shift workers making their way home.

  Ricky stepped close to tap with a knuckle, but the door opened suddenly and within, a smiling figure, still in the faded orange jumpsuit that identified him as an electrical systems technician. Nathan Gault motioned them inside with a silent wave of his thin, effeminate hand.

  “Haven’t seen you down here in a while, Slider. I hear it’s bad hot up there today!”

  “Sticky, too,” Ricky answered.

  “Well,” Gault continued in a deep voice that belied his meager frame, “never mind that now; sit, and I’ll bring you something cool to drink, eh?”

  “Thanks, Natty,” Ricky replied, motioning Litzi to a slender couch in the cluttered living room.

  When he returned with two plastic tumblers filled with counterfeit Topaz and fruit juice, Gault rubbed the three-day growth of graying stubble on his chin and nodded Litzi’s attention toward an unseen room.

  “Frankie’s still on-shift, but she’ll be home in a while; I’ve got Vera’s old room all set up for you, if you’d like to unpack and get settled in?”

  Ricky whispered the interpretation for Litzi.

  “Natty’s wife, Frankie; she works on one of the lines in the stamping plants. Vera is their daughter.”

  “We never heard back from the Housing Authority lady after Vera moved out a couple of years ago, so now we have a guest room, if you can believe that!”

  Ricky nodded with a knowing smile; few were allowed to keep quarters for three after one had gone.

  “I hope it lasts.”

  “I don’t think they even noticed, so if they’re not worried about it, why should we, right?”

  “How’s she doing these days?”

  “Vera?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, she’s doin’ great! Got herself into the MPE academy, just on her school grades. She’s a street-beater in Sector 3 now, keeping an eye on all the shops up and down Fairbairn Avenue.”

  “Vera’s a cop?” Ricky asked with a grin. “She was just a teenager the last time I saw her!”

  “Yep,” Gault declared. “It’s different now; they don’t care if you’re a mole anymore, as long as you pass the entrance exams. Vera’s done pretty good for herself and now she’s hot-tracking for sergeant in a few years, too!

  “I’ll be damned.” Ricky grinned. “I better watch my ass when I’m over in her district!”

  “Well, she’d probably give you a pass, Slider; we’re not forgetting what you did for her, and…”

  The door clunked and swung open suddenly as Francesca Gault paused to catch
her breath, smiling from rosy cheeks and deep brown eyes.

  “Whew! I ran down to the lift as fast as I could; sorry I’m so late, but…”

  She bowed just a little, noticing Litzi at last.

  “Hello my dear, I’m Frankie; you must be Richard’s sister?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry for the bother…”

  “Nonsense! You’re always welcome here…”

  “Litzi.”

  “Litzi. What a beautiful name, isn’t it Natty?”

  “We’re going to look after her for a while,” Gault answered, “so I got Vera’s room ready to go. Litzi, there’s a little bathroom through the door over there; we have our own in the bedroom, so consider this one yours while you’re here, okay?”

  Litzi smiled and nodded with gratitude and the relief that comforts a stranger, safe among new friends. She guessed correctly that both knew why she had come and the need to keep her out of sight until Ricky’s troubles had been resolved. Frankie held out a hand and led Litzi toward a narrow hallway and Vera’s room. When they were gone, Gault turned to Ricky.

  “Don’t worry about her, Slider; there’s no chance that bastard will ever find her down here.”

  “You know how much I appreciate this, Natty.”

  “It’s okay; we take care of our own.”

  “It could be weeks,” Ricky cautioned.

  “Doesn’t matter; she’s with us now, and until you say different, she’ll be right here, nice and invisible.”

  Ricky hugged Litzi with a warning not to contact Helene.

  “You got time off from work, right?”

  “Yes; they know I’m going to be out for a while and it’s okay. I told them I have to take care of Mom, and they bought it.”

  Ricky looked at Litzi and nodded to reassure.

  “I’ll explain all this to her later, Litzi, just don’t call her and don’t answer when she calls you; they have people who look for stuff like that.”

  “The Watchers; I know.”

  Litzi looked at him a last time, her brow wrinkled with the worry he knew was there.

  “What’s to keep them from using Mom to find me? There’s no telling what an asshole like Konstantinou would do!”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Ricky replied, shaking his head with conviction, thinking of the Walk. “She’s going out to stay with Aunt Alexa tomorrow, remember? They’re finally looking through the boxes Dad left when he died, so she’ll be off the grid for a while. Boris doesn’t know where Alexa lives and I don’t think he gives a shit anyway; you’re the one he’s after.”

  She returned a sad smile and squeezed his hands tightly.

  “Please don’t do something stupid, okay? They’re dangerous, Ricky, you know that.”

  “Everything will be all right; just stay here and don’t go up to the surface, not for any reason, you understand?”

  She nodded automatically.

  “I mean it, Litzi; no matter what you hear, stay put until I come back to get you.”

  “I understand!”

  “Okay, I have to go.”

  He went to Gault, speaking low as they shook hands.

  “You know what to do if this goes wrong, yes?”

  “I’ll take care of everything, Slider; don’t worry about any of that.”

  “Thanks, Natty; I owe you.”

  Ricky went quickly to the lifts and backtracked home, relieved in the comfort Litzi and Helene, at least, would not be a part of the task before him. Better still, he thought with sudden, satisfying delight, Boris’ perverse desires would go unrewarded.

  Ricky slumped at last into the musty, old lounger in the middle of his living room, dabbing the sweat from his face and arms with a small towel. His eyes ached again, bringing the curious flares of light in his vision that pulsed in time with the beat of his heart. Through the wall, clattering music from Mrs. Abber’s favorite game show blared out its carnival note in a mocking contradiction to the sullen mood and his fallen condition. In the darkness, his thoughts dragged him without pity across the debris of his failures and what he knew awaited him when Bartel returned. The Walk was his last and only option, yet Ricky felt the weight of worry lifting as he gave himself over to the inevitable conclusion.

  Two days passed since Ricky’s final, desperate call to Justman, but the answer was no surprise; Boris Konstantinou wouldn’t budge. Bartel and Junkyard stood in the pale light filtering down from Rademacher Way.

  “Hello, Slider,” Bartel said with a crooked smile. “The Boss, he don’t wait no more; you gotta make it right, know what I mean?”

  In Bartel’s face, Ricky saw the cold, emotionless truth of his circumstance and a steep price he would have to pay. It was useless to try a break, hoping to elude them in the narrow walkway by the market; Junkyard would take out his disappointment on Ricky’s face when he finally ran him down. As he knew it would, Slider’s moment of reckoning finally arrived.

  “I know you don’t, but Boris, he says I got to ask anyway,” said Bartel calmly, thumbing the magnets he kept forever in his pocket. “You got the money this time?”

  Ricky turned away and shook his head slowly. Bartel looked at Junkyard with an expression of mock sympathy that only made worse Ricky’s misery.

  “Aw, I tell you, see? He can’t give the money, poor lad.”

  Suddenly, Bartel’s eyes narrowed as he moved in close.

  “He ain’t gonna give you no more chances, Slider, you know?”

  Ricky said nothing, but Bartel continued, as if to justify the horrors that would be inflicted when the Walk began.

  “It’s not so fair, is it? You take all them hours and you don’t pay none of it back. The Boss, he don’t sit when somebody takes advantage like you done, know what I mean?”

  Ricky braced himself against the arm of the ancient, stuffed chair, numb in a grip of hopelessness and despair.

  “I can’t get the money. I tried, but there’s no way.”

  Junkyard smiled through brown, twisted teeth and said, “You ain’t got a choice no more, boy.”

  Bartel smiled again.

  “Oh, he has the choice, but he don’t want to do that, do you, Slider?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Give her up or get ready to die, you stupid little shit.” Junkyard smiled cruelly.

  “He says right, Slider; the only way you got to save your own skin. You should think about it once, okay?”

  Ricky closed his eyes.

  “No. It’s not her fault; none of this is her fault.”

  “Sure, sure,” Bartel continued, “but that way you could still come out alive, see? And like I said, Boris won’t ask her to do nothing she ain’t doin’ now, right? She just gotta do it for the Boss until he gets what you owe, that’s all.”

  “No!” Ricky shouted. “Leave her out of this!”

  Bartel walked to the kitchenette and rinsed the dust from his hands.

  “Come on, Slider! You tell us where you sister hide, and we can make all of this so easy. We ain’t gonna hurt her! The Boss, he just gonna play with her a little while and then let her go, see? Maybe he give her some makeup and clothes, too—who knows? She ain’t a kid no more, Slider.”

  Ricky glared at Bartel with the last of his resolve.

  “You’ll never find her, and I won’t give her to him. She’s not part of this!”

  Bartel frowned and looked at Junkyard.

  “He ain’t gonna say. Slider don’t want to think like that. He don’t want to see her the…the little prostitute school girlie, right? He rather die than to send her like that. It’s okay; I understand.”

  Junkyard recognized his cue.

  “Then you’re gonna make the Walk, you loudmouth piece of shit!”

  Bartel nodded and stood next to Ricky.

  “Last chance to say, now. You gonna tell us where sister hiding? It’s the only way, Slider—the way this got to be, okay?”

  “I can’t turn on my sister,” he said softly.

  Bartel shook his h
ead solemnly.

  “Okay, Slider, then it settled; we take you to Boris now and he gonna show you how to make the Walk.”

  Ricky felt sick, but Bartel looked at the cluttered flat, suddenly tapping Ricky’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

  “You should lock up tight when we go, or the streeties bust in and take everything when they figure you ain’t coming back no more. You don’t want them getting in after you’re gone, right? And anyway, nobody gonna call the MPE boys, so…”

  Ricky nodded and turned off the light, following Bartel and Junkyard outside. He paused for a moment, looking one last time at the evidence of what he’d become. It couldn’t be any other way, he knew, but at least Helene and Litzi wouldn’t be made to suffer for it, too. He wanted to explain to them—to say goodbye. The news would filter in through the networks, he thought silently, or maybe from a neighbor. Helene would endure the family’s second death and like his father, Ricky’s would arrive too soon. Would it make Litzi hate him, he wondered? As he went up the alley between Bartel and Junkyard, Ricky thought suddenly of Mrs. Abber and the loss of a tenant. It seemed absurd, but the rent would come due in four days and he hadn’t paid her. Another failure—another person he would let down.

  They rode in silence and Ricky looked out from Junkyard’s rattling delivery van, laboring up the long incline from the Square. Above, he knew, the city was alive; Uppers finished their workday and filled the bridges and causeways connecting one mega-tower to the next, oblivious of the sad, unfortunate drama playing out below. They lived normal lives in safety and comfort, unconcerned for the low-born street people who fought a daily battle to survive. Their lives should have been his, too, but bad luck—and Starlight—kept him forever in those places where the clean people never go.

  After twenty minutes, Junkyard stopped near a wide ramp down to the first level of a parking garage, vacant and deserted since the days when gleaming land cars filled its spaces with the echoes of squealing tires and whining engines. They stopped at a cement bunker where the lifts made their last stop. Dimly lit, stinking of mold and urine, the internal vert squeaked to a halt with a muted thud. As the doors parted, Ricky watched as the reality of the moment held him like a vise. Once inside, he knew, there was no going back. A sudden rush of panic nearly overtook him, but a glance toward an exit to the street fell only upon Junkyard’s massive frame, waiting should Ricky’s resolve fail him at last. It was useless to fight and Ricky followed Bartel into the lift.