by Bev Prescott
“I’m afraid to ask.” Sharon rolled her sleeve down. “What happened to the real Midge?”
“By now, she’s a pile of ash.”
“You didn’t.”
“Of course not.” Dale wheeled back to Sharon. “She died about six months ago from a cardiac virus. All dead bodies within five hundred miles of Chicago are brought to Wrigley Field, the regional crematorium. As you know, it’s a criminal offense to bury a body. Fortunately for us, NONA doesn’t put resources into identifying all of the corpses that show up there. They barely pay their pompiers a living wage. One of our own is a pompier.” She winked. “Unlike NONA, we pay him well.”
“A pompier?”
“Funeral directors stopped being funeral directors once people started dropping like flies from disease. Now we have people who run the crematoriums. That’s what we call them here in the Midwest, pompiers. What do they call them where you’re from?”
“People who run the crematoriums,” Sharon answered. “I guess.”
“What do you mean you guess?” Dale asked.
“I never had the occasion to deal with one. I had two brothers. One was a soldier who died overseas. He never came home. I buried my other brother myself on our farm after he was killed by Banditti. As for my parents—” she ran her palms from her forehead to her chin—“they contracted the Siberia Permafrost Plague. My father died within hours of my mother. I burned our farmhouse to the ground with their bodies inside. After I found their ashes, I buried them.”
“I’m so sorry. I think everyone knows someone who died of that plague. No one would’ve guessed that it would be orders of magnitude worse than the Great Plague. It scared people senseless. Nobody thought twice about making the law permanent that bodies had to be burned instead of buried.”
“I didn’t want my brothers to get sick too. But I couldn’t send my parents to a crematorium to be burned with a pile of other bodies.”
“You did what you had to do.”
“You mind if we talk about something else?” Sharon cleared her throat. Part of her wanted to keep talking. Something about Dale made it okay to rehash the memories she worked hard to contain. But leaving them near the surface might get in the way of keeping her head.
“You bet.” Dale smiled. “What else do you want to know?”
“How do you get the chips out of bodies before they’re burned?”
“Like I said, our guy on the inside is one of the pompiers. He excises them when the bodies come in. We sterilize them and use those identities when the need arises.”
“Doesn’t NONA know they’re dead? They must deactivate the chip when the body’s picked up. That wouldn’t cost them anything.”
“Our hackers get into NONA’s database and switch a person’s status from dead to alive. Plus, that’s how we know the deceased’s identity and credentials. We chose Midge for you because she was a water-walker.” Dale’s head snapped toward a rap at the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, amiga,” Federico answered.
“Come in.” Dale got up.
The door swung open. Federico breezed in, with JJ at his heels. Both wore blue coveralls with name tags not their own. Water-walker was stitched over the left breast pocket of both pairs. JJ carried a bag slung over his shoulder.
“Hola.” Federico whistled. “Good work, Dale. Sharon looks totally different.”
“Yeah, she does,” JJ agreed. “Is there anything you can’t do, Dale?”
“Dance.” Dale lifted her arms and snapped her fingers. “Want to see?”
In unison, JJ and Federico answered, “No!”
The smile that spread across Sharon’s face felt good. Even if only for a moment, the surrender of her muscles into levity boosted her optimism about the Qaunik. They were serious and unnerving at times, yet warm and funny.
“Not that you’re not good at it,” Federico added. “We don’t have time for a dance party.”
“Right.” Dale smirked. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Honesty is one of the codes we live by. That’s why my brother looks guilty when he tries to fib.” JJ elbowed Federico. “Right?”
“Sí.” Federico smiled. “We must go.”
JJ unslung the bag and tossed it to Sharon’s feet. “Put these on, my fellow water-walker. Your hammer is in there too.”
“What about my satchel?” Sharon asked.
“It’s secured. You’ll get it back after we finish this job. You can hide the hammer beneath your clothing. The satchel will draw attention.” Federico swiped the clock on his sleeve. “Actually, we’re running late. You can put the water-walker uniform on en route to the Jardine Water Purification Plant. We’ll blow our cover if we’re not there on time.”
“What’s your plan?” Dale asked.
Sharon picked up the bag at her feet. She worried that they’d searched her satchel and found the apples. Federico was right, though. She had no choice but to trust him, and hope he kept his word.
“We’ll come above ground about two blocks from the Jardine, then walk the rest of the way. There should be plenty of other water-walkers we can fall in line with.”
“What does a water-walker do?” Sharon asked. “More to the point, what are we—posing as them—going to do?”
JJ said, “Once we get past the NONA checkpoint at the Jardine, we’ll be allowed on the water side of the wall.” He pointed to the number seven on his shoulder. “Our job will be to deliver water containers to the seventh transporter. Once it’s filled, we’ll stow away onboard. After the pilot takes off, we hijack the transporter.”
“Let’s head out,” Federico said. “We’ll fill you in on the rest of the plan along the way. Plus, you’re going to need to learn a few fighting techniques for use once we’re in the cramped confines of the transporter. That hammer of yours is no doubt effective. But we’ll need something not quite so—messy. JJ’s going to teach you some jujitsu.”
“Joints and pressure points.” JJ put the heel of his hand to his jawbone. “Do it right, and no adversary is too big to take down.”
“Let’s see.” Sharon crossed her arms. “You’re going to teach me jujitsu, then we sneak onto the other side of the wall, posing as water-walkers, to steal a transporter. You make it sound so simple.”
“All in a day’s work, amiga.” Federico made toward the door.
# # #
After traveling almost an hour through the sewer, they exited and climbed toward pinpricks of light coming through an iron manhole cover. With a soft grunt, Federico lifted the cover by a crack. “Coast is clear.” He pushed it aside. “Hurry.”
Sharon and JJ scrambled out of the tunnel onto the dark street. The sun rested below the horizon, and no stars or moon lit the muddy early morning.
Federico pushed the cover back over the hole. “We move.”
They marched shoulder to shoulder in their blue coveralls as other sleepy water-walkers spilled out of doorways and around corners.
Keeping her voice low, Sharon asked, “Wouldn’t it be less of a threat to NONA to use robots instead of people to move the water? I can’t imagine all of these thirsty people can be trusted.”
“Thirsty people are cheaper to maintain than robots,” JJ answered.
Federico drew a forefinger across his throat. “And the punishment for stealing water is execution on the spot. It’s a pretty good deterrent.”
“You guys are just now telling me that?” Sharon easily kept pace with Federico’s lead. The wall loomed larger as they neared. Even though she couldn’t see the lake, she could smell its damp, sweet fragrance. It made her think of eating pan-fried trout her grandfather used to catch out of the cold water of Moosehead Lake. They’d wash it down with iced lemonade.
“No need to tell you, because we don’t intend to get caught.” Federico slowed as they neared the checkpoint. “Be sure to keep your sleeve over the bandage at your wrist and your head down. If they ask to see your eyes, don’t blink. I’ll go first.”
He lifted his wrist as he neared the NONA soldier keeping guard at the entry.
The guard waved a chip reader down Federico’s arm to his hand. He glanced at the readout on the wand and said, “Enter.”
It went the same for JJ.
Sharon lifted her wrist to the soldier. A smidge of white from the bandage edged from her sleeve cuff. She lowered her wrist just enough for it to disappear. Did he notice?
“Show me your eyes,” the soldier ordered indifferently.
Sharon looked into his, and did not blink.
He moved the wand in front of her face and then studied the readout. “Go.”
Sharon lowered her head and walked through to the other side. When she lifted her eyes, the sight stunned the fear out of her. A vast ocean of fresh water shimmered in the dim light of the rising sun. It was hard to wrap her head around the enormity of it. The steady rhythm of the lake’s lapping at the shore soothed her as early mornings did on her farm. The gorgeous gray-blue vastness left her feeling awed and small. A reminder that the planet was so much larger, more beautiful, and more powerful than the pestilence of what humanity had become. She wished Eve could see it, too.
“You okay?” JJ asked.
“Yeah, sorry.” Sharon tore her eyes from the humbling lake to the water-walkers scuttling from building to shore and back. “All of this expanse reminded me of my farm.”
“You’re a rare bird,” Federico said. “One doesn’t meet too many farmers these days.”
“My family’s been for generations. Now there’s nothing left to grow. But I still think of myself as a farmer.”
“Yeah, that was the genius of humanity.” JJ yanked a blue cloth cap that matched his overalls from a pocket and put it on. “Humans fucked up the food supply. Sort of, if I’m going to starve to death, so will everyone else on the planet.”
“Now all we have are a few genetically modified seeds.” Federico shook his head. “Of potatoes and kale, of all things. You’d think we could’ve at least saved a few cayenne pepper seeds to jazz things up.”
Sharon held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t ask about the apple that the Strelitzia had eaten without dying. Surely they must be intensely curious. Maybe they’d searched her satchel and found the apples. Maybe they were baiting her for information. She gestured to the large building that loomed in front of them. “Tell me what’s next for us to do.”
The Jardine Water Purification Plant sat on a square platform that stretched into the water. Navy Pier, with a derelict Ferris wheel rusted in place, bordered it to the south. A concrete breakwater carved a barrier between the Jardine and the massive expanse of gray-blue Lake Michigan.
“Ever seen so much drinking water?” JJ asked. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“I want to throw myself into it and drink until I can’t fit another drop,” Sharon murmured.
“Well, that’ll get you shot.” Federico motioned for them to follow. “Transporter number seven is at the far end.” He pointed to a line of bulbous silver transporters floating in the sliver of water between the Jardine and Navy Pier. Their round fuselages sacrificed aerodynamics for cargo space. Lashed to the dock, their gangplanks stuck out like tongues from their wide-open mouths, making them look gluttonous. “See the other water-walkers? We get the water from the number seven bay and load it onto the transporter. There’ll be two other number seven water-walkers. Don’t converse with them unless you have to. And if you do, grunt your answer.”
“What happens after we’ve loaded all of the water?” Sharon asked.
“We wait for the guard to exit the transporter,” JJ answered. “That’s when the pilot will close the hatch for takeoff. There’ll be six of us on board. The pilot, two water-walkers, and the three of us.”
“You and I,” Federico pointed to Sharon, “when I give you the signal by taking my hat off, we’re going to subdue and mask the other two water-walkers. Use strikes to the pressure points, just like JJ showed you. He’ll mask the pilot like we did the Strelitzia’s hit man. After we take off and get someplace safe, we’ll let them go.”
“We’ll be long gone before they make it back from wherever we leave them,” JJ added. “Like Aaron, that guy who works for the Strelitzia who tried to grab you. I’m pretty sure he’s still out there. Somewhere.”
“Hopefully rethinking the side he’s on.” Federico veered toward an open bay. “Here we go. Lucky number seven.” He led them inside.
Thousands upon thousands of glass one-liter bottles filled polycarbonate crates.
Sharon leaned into Federico and whispered, “I’ve never seen this much glass in one place. I’m surprised they use something so heavy to hold water.”
“The trouble with Lake Michigan is the brain-eating amoeba known as Otto’s Demise that lives in it. North Korea dropped it into the lake via a long-range ballistic missile seven decades ago. The only way to kill it is by boiling the water. After it’s filtered, NONA puts the water in glass bottles and autoclaves them.”
“Damn.” Sharon sighed. “I drank from the fountain in Millennium Park. Just like all those other poor thirsty people.”
“Not to worry. You’re healthy. It’s only the sick and weak who are generally susceptible to the amoeba.” JJ gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Our doc, Dale, has an anti-parasitic drug we can give you. Just in case.”
“That’s a relief. A parasite making a home in my brain is on my top ten list of things not to die from.”
“I’m with you on that, sister,” JJ said.
Two NONA soldiers stood guard on either side of the warehouse as water-walkers shuttled crates to transporters. Each crate contained fifteen bottles. The larger and stronger water-walkers carried a crate at a time. The smaller ones schlepped them in pairs. In silence, Sharon, JJ and Federico joined in, grabbing a crate apiece.
Following JJ, Sharon lugged her crate into the transporter. A long hallway flanked on each side by stacked crates led toward a cockpit. The pilot sat with his back to them, studying a command screen that showed the weight distribution in the vessel. In fluid motion, his fingers pressed buttons and slid over silky touch-sensitive surfaces.
Over and over, Sharon retrieved water from the bay and loaded it onto the transporter. Her arms felt like rubber; her thighs burned from squatting and lifting. Mercifully, it wasn’t long before the hallway couldn’t hold any more crates, and Sharon joined JJ, Federico, and the other two number seven water-walkers in securing straps to hold the crates.
“Transporter’s full,” the guard yelled to the pilot. “All clear?”
The pilot turned in his jump seat. “All clear.”
“See you when you get back. Have a good flight, sir.” The guard tipped his hat and jogged out of the transporter and down the gangplank.
“Stay clear of the bay door!” The pilot yelled and flipped a switch. The claws on the end of the gangplank holding it to the pier snapped open. Bobbing free in the water, the transporter backed away as the gangplank rose and the bay door slid closed over it. “Finish securing the crates and prepare to take off.”
Sharon grabbed a safety-yellow webbed strap and snapped the j-hook at its end into the recessed bar on the wall. As she cinched it tight, Federico coughed. She turned her head and caught him lifting his cap. She recited JJ’s words of training in her head, one two three, just like dancing.
Federico shoved the cap into his pocket while the two water-walkers continued to place straps around the crates. He pulled two masks from his other pocket and tossed one to Sharon.
She snatched it as the movements of the water-walkers shifted from rote to surprise. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw JJ dashing into the cockpit.
“Hey!” The water-walker nearest Sharon grabbed her left wrist. “What are you doing?”
She planted her feet firmly, flexed her knees, and struck him with a right knife-hand between his elbow and wrist. As his arm swung back, she took a step forward, made a hammer fist with her right hand and swung up into his ribs. A grunt o
f air puffed from the water-walker’s mouth as he slumped forward. She rammed the heel of her open left hand into his jaw.
The water-walker crumpled to the floor. No blood, no sound.
She pinned his limp arms against his sides with her knees and slid the hooded mask over his face. Scrambling off of the unconscious water-walker, she slipped her arms under his armpits and wrestled his flaccid body into a sitting position against a stack of crates. With one of the loose straps, she latched him to the wall. “Wow, that actually worked.”
“Good job, amiga.” Federico shoved the other water-walker against the crates and secured him next to his comrade. “We predicted you’d be a quick study.”
JJ led the quiet and compliant masked pilot from the cockpit. His fingertips dug into the pressure points at the pilot’s neck as he lowered him next to the other captives. “You’re one badass farmer.” He grinned and tied the pilot to the crates.
Sharon flexed her left hand. “Didn’t even hurt. One, two, three and he was out cold at my feet. Just like you said. Maybe you could teach me some more moves?”
“I’d be happy to.” JJ straightened. “Pressure points. Takes the biggest and baddest guys down every time.”
“We better hurry.” Federico got up. “No one’s the wiser and the other pilots are firing up their engines.”
Sharon followed the two men into the cockpit.
JJ sat in the pilot’s seat and stretched a Kevlene helmet with communicator over his head. He flipped a switch and the thrusters turned over with a smooth hiss.
Federico motioned to one of four passenger seats.
Sharon sat next to him and closed the torso-restraint over her chest.
JJ pressed and held a button on the helmet. “Seven, ready for takeoff.”
A woman’s voice responded through a speaker on the dash. “Cleared to fly.”
Keeping his hand on the button, JJ counted, “In three, two, and one.” He moved his finger from the button and slid it over the command-screen. The transporter’s forward camera showed them backing away from the dock and turning toward open water. JJ gripped the throttle and pushed it forward, revving the thrusters. Frothy water swirled in front of and below them as the transporter lifted into the air and burst forward.