Fragments

by Dan Wells

  “Nature has fought back,” said Heron. “Let’s hope it hasn’t flooded your data center.”

  “Here’s the address,” said Afa eagerly, pulling a folded piece of paper from his backpack; another email printout, with a street address circled in red near the bottom. “I’ve never been here, so I don’t know where it is.”

  Samm looked at the paper, then at the gargantuan city ahead of them. “Cermak Road. I don’t even know where to start looking.” He glanced back down at his paper, then down at the streets below. “We’re going to need a map.”

  “That tower is probably an airport,” said Kira, pointing to a tall concrete pillar near the shores of the lake. “They’ll have an old car rental place, and that’s bound to have some kind of local road map.” The others agreed, and they climbed back down to their horses. The roads to the airport were mostly dry, but the few patches of flooding still proved problematic. Some of the streets were full of shallow standing water, others were merely muddy, but here and there a street had become a moving stream or a rushing river. Manhole covers bubbled with encroaching lake water, pavement buckled from leaking water mains, and sometimes entire streets had caved in and washed away, thanks to overloaded sewer pipes far below. The smell was overpowering, but it smelled like lake, not sewer. Humanity had been gone so long it didn’t even smell bad anymore. It took them all day to reach the airport, and they camped for the night in a ground-floor office. The horses they tethered to a rusting X-ray machine. As Kira had suspected, the rental car center had a number of local maps, and they pored over them by the light of Heron’s flashlight, planning their route for the following day.

  “The data center is here,” said Samm, pointing to a spot near the coast, smack in the middle of the thickest part of downtown. “With the lake right there, and canals on every side, I think we’ll be lucky if we don’t end up swimming there. And we’ll have to hope the water’s not poisonous this close to the toxic wasteland.”

  “The horses will never make it,” said Kira.

  Heron looked at the scale in the corner of the page, trying to calculate distance. “That’s a long walk without them. It looks like we can take Highway 90 almost the whole way there; if it’s elevated, like some of these have been, we shouldn’t have any problems with the flooding until the last few blocks.”

  “And then what?” asked Kira. “Leave the horses tied up to the freeway? If Chicago’s anything like Manhattan, they’ll be eaten by lions in the first few hours. Or those freaky talking dogs.”

  Samm almost smiled. “You’re still hung up on those, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t understand how the rest of you aren’t,” said Kira.

  “If we leave them free enough to escape from predators, they won’t be there when we get back,” said Heron. “If you want horses at all, we have to take the risk.”

  “How far is it?” asked Kira, looking closer at the map. “We could leave them here, or upstairs maybe—if they’re penned in, they’re not in as much danger, and we know we could find them again.”

  “I don’t want to walk,” said Afa from the other side of the room, fiddling with his portable screen. Kira didn’t even know he’d been listening.

  “You’ll do fine,” she said, but Samm shook his head.

  “I don’t know if he will. I think he’s weaker now than when we started the trip.”

  “If he can’t handle the walk there, he won’t be able to handle the walk back home,” said Kira. “We leave the horses somewhere safe, and pick them up on the way back.”

  Heron examined the map, tracing the route with her finger. “We go out here and get straight on 90; it’s a toll road, but I’ve got a few quarters. That links up here, to 94, and goes right into the heart of downtown. We get off on this big interchange here, and it’s a straight shot across to ParaGen, maybe only a mile of surface streets.” It was hard to tell on the map what kinds of buildings lay along the route, since it was intended for tourists and business travelers; a few key hotels and convention centers were called out, and a handful of famous local restaurants, but nothing that looked convenient to their path. Finally Heron zeroed in on a building shaped like a lopsided circle, just off the highway. “This says ‘Wrigley Field.’ That’s a baseball stadium. There’ll be an off-ramp from the highway, and plenty of places to pen the horses in—they’ll have food, and they’ll be contained and protected.”

  Kira studied it, then nodded. “I suppose it’s our best bet, and if things don’t go as planned, we can adapt on the road. Let’s get some sleep, and head out at first light.”

  The airport had several restaurants, and in the back kitchens they were able to scrounge together several cans of sealed food—mostly bulk-size cans of fruit, but one place had a rack of canned chicken, and a sagging Mexican restaurant had some gallon cans of refried beans and cheese sauce. Most of the fruit had turned, and the beans smelled just suspicious enough that they decided not to risk it, but the chicken and cheese made for a tasty if slightly messy meal. They started a fire in a metal garbage can and warmed it up as best they could, serving it on foam trays—so well-preserved they looked like new—and eating with plastic forks from a bag in the back of an old sandwich shop. Afa ignored them, eyes glued to his screen, eating only when Kira placed the food directly in front of his face. He was mumbling about security codes, and they left him to his work.

  Kira took the first watch, talking softly to Bobo as he nibbled on an overgrown planter box. Afa was still working when Heron took over at two in the morning, but when Kira woke up at seven he was asleep in his chair, slumped down over the darkened screen. Kira couldn’t help but wonder if he’d fallen asleep naturally, or if Heron had somehow knocked him unconscious.

  They packed up and rode out, following the map and discovering that Heron was right, and the highway was elevated. They passed through mile after mile of Chicago as if on a bridge through a swamp, looking down at houses and parks and schoolyards all flooded and soggy, the oily surface of the water glinting brightly in the morning sun. Here and there a river moved through the city, evidence of an extremely high water table, and Kira marveled that the city had ever been dry at all. It must have taken an immense effort for the old world to keep the lake and the rivers and even the groundwater in check. Part of her felt proud, as Afa had been the day before, smiling to think that she was a part of such an amazing legacy—a species so intelligent, so capable and determined, that they could hold back the sea and turn rivers around in their paths. To have taken this marshy coastline and turned it into a megacity was a feat to be proud of.

  Another part of her thought only of the towering pride. How easy would it be for a civilization so amazing to reach just a little too far? To do something it shouldn’t? To make one sacrifice or one compromise or one rationalization too many? If you can build a city so great, what’s to stop you from building a person? If you can control a lake, what’s to stop you from controlling a population? If you can subjugate nature itself, why should a sickness ever get out of hand?

  Kira thought about the Trust: about all their secret plans and hidden intentions. About the Failsafe. What was it? Were they trying to save the world, or destroy it? The answers were in the data center, and the data center was in their grasp.

  They followed Interstate 90 on a straight course northwest, until at last it arced farther west to join 94. To their dismay it began to dip down here, not just losing its elevation but literally running below the level of the rest of the city—not under the ground, but sunken into it. What had once been a highway was now a lazy river, with only the tops of the tallest trucks poking out above the water.

  “We’ll need to double back,” said Samm.

  “And what,” asked Heron, “travel through the surface streets? You saw the sinkholes we passed trying to get to the airport—with this much water covering everything, we’ll never know whether we’re stepping into solid ground or an underwater pit.”

  Kira looked behind them, scanning the citysca
pe, then back at the river. “It’s too long for the horses to swim.”

  “It’s miles,” said Heron.

  “Let’s find a boat,” said Afa.

  Kira looked at him. “Are you serious?”

  “You said this road goes straight up to the data center, right? We know it’s deep enough for a boat, so let’s leave the horses and take one.”

  Samm nodded. “I have to admit that’s a pretty good idea. Let’s find something that can float and carry us.”

  Kira angled Bobo toward the side of the highway and looked off, scanning the city around them. Here at the point of junction the highway was ridiculously wide, dozens of lanes across, and nearly at ground level. The north side was some kind of a rail station, but the south looked like a residential neighborhood, and probably the best bet for finding a small boat. She slid off Bobo’s back, stretched her legs, and grabbed her rifle. “One of you come with me. Let’s see what we can find over there.”

  “I’ll go,” said Samm. He jumped off Buddy and followed Kira, catching up to her quickly with long, easy strides. They clambered over a cement barrier, then another and another, countless different roads and lanes and directions all running into and past and around one another. “It’s a good plan,” he said.

  Kira hoisted herself over another barrier. “The boat? Afa’s not an idiot.”

  “I think I’ve been unfair to him.”

  Kira grinned. “Don’t get all mushy over one good idea.”

  “It’s not just that,” he said, “it’s everything. He’s been stronger than I expected. Or more resilient, at least.” He followed her over the barrier.

  Kira nodded absently, scanning the trees at the edge of the road. “He’s been through a lot.”

  “Eleven years alone,” said Samm, “running and hiding without anyone to help or share it with. It’s no wonder his mind broke.” He shrugged. “He’s only human.”

  Kira froze. “Wait,” she said, turning to face him. “You’re saying he’s . . . that it’s okay that he’s crazy because he’s human?”

  “I’m saying that he’s done much better for himself than a lot of humans would have,” said Samm.

  “But you think being human is a liability,” said Kira. “That being human somehow excuses his deficiencies because hey, at least he’s not crapping in his pants all the time.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “But it’s what you meant,” said Kira. Is that what you thought about me? ‘She’s pretty smart, for a human’?”

  “You’re a Partial.”

  “You didn’t know that.”

  “We are engineered to be perfect,” said Samm. “We’re stronger and smarter and more capable because we were built that way—I don’t see why it’s so bad to recognize it out loud.”

  Kira turned away and vaulted the last barrier, splashing down in the thin mud beyond. “And you wonder why all the humans hate you.”

  “Wait,” said Samm, following closely behind her. “What’s this really about? You don’t normally get this angry.”

  “And you don’t normally make sweeping racist statements about how stupid humans are.”

  “Heron does,” said Samm. “You never bite her head off.”

  She spun to face him. “So you should be allowed to hate us, too? Is that the problem—I’m being unfair to you?”

  “That’s not—” He stopped in midsentence. “Ah.”

  “‘Ah’? What ‘ah’?”

  “I see what this is about, and I apologize for bringing it up.”

  “I told you what this is about. Don’t try to shift the blame anywhere but your own perfectly engineered shoulders.”

  “You keep calling the humans ‘us,’” he said softly. “You’re still identifying with them.”

  “Of course I’m identifying with them,” she said. “It’s called human empathy. That’s what humans do, we identify with each other—we care about each other. Obviously Heron has no heart whatsoever, but you, I thought, were different. You . . .” Her voice trailed off. How could she explain the betrayal she felt when he talked like that about people she loved? When he continued to not understand how horrible that kind of attitude was? She turned away and started walking.

  “I’m sorry,” he said behind her. “But Heron is right. You’re going to have to figure out who you are.”

  Kira threw her hands in the air, yelling back without turning around. “So I can ‘choose a side’?” She was crying now, and the tears were hot on her cheeks.

  “So you can be happy,” said Samm. “You’re tearing yourself in half.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It took them an hour to find a boat, never talking to each other beyond simple monosyllables: Here. There. No. It was a small motorboat, maybe twelve feet from stem to stern, mounted on a trailer and packed into a backyard practically overflowing with trucks and off-road vehicles. Kira walked around it, splashing in the shallow water, determining how it was attached, how to unhook it, where they might be able to push a truck or break a fence to get the thing out of the yard. There didn’t seem to be a way. She simmered, still angry at Samm, but finally spoke without looking at him.

  “I don’t think we can get it out.”

  “I agree.” His voice was plain and unemotional, but he was always like that. Was he as mad at her as she was at him? The thought that he might not be made her even angrier than before.

  “Whoever lived here was obviously an outdoorsman,” said Samm, glancing around at the dirt bikes and camping trailers lying near the immovable boat. “He might have something smaller in his garage.”

  “Or her garage,” said Kira, immediately regretting the tone of petulance in her voice. You can be mad at him without being an idiot, Kira. She focused on the problem at hand, looking at the truck’s tires again, wondering how far it would get if she tried to start it: The tires were flat, and the gas in the tank was twelve years old, so if it started at all, it wouldn’t get far. To the end of the street? The end of the driveway? They were only a block from the south fork of the highway river; if they could just get that far, they could dump it in and row it the rest of the way. She tried the door to the house, supposing that if the owners were home when they died, the keys to the truck might be inside. The door was locked, and she pulled her pistol to shoot off the lock when suddenly Samm emerged from the garage, loudly banging a small metal rowboat against the door frame.

  “There are oars inside,” he said, nodding back toward the garage.

  “It’s kind of small.”

  “It’s the best I could find,” said Samm, “I’m only a Partial.” There was no vitriol in his voice as he said it, because there never was, but Kira felt a small surge of anger that could have come from the link—or it could have come from her own raging mind. Whether she felt it or not, he was clearly still thinking about their argument, and the revelation gave her a joint thrill of anger and triumph. She forced herself to keep a cool expression and went inside to get the oars.

  By the time they made it back to the highway junction, first rowing and then carrying the boat up the small incline, Heron and Afa were standing alone. “I tied up the horses in the train yard,” said Heron.

  “She made me get off my horse,” said Afa. “I hate that horse.”

  “You should be glad to be rid of it, then,” said Kira. She looked at Heron pointedly. “They’re safe?”

  “I gave yours a gun just in case.”

  “Perfect,” said Kira. “Ready to go?”

  Heron glanced at Samm, then back at Kira, calculating silently. “What happened between you two?”

  “Nothing,” said Samm. Heron raised an eyebrow.

  They slipped the boat back into the water, helping Afa in and positioning him carefully in the center. The boat sank lower under his weight, but it held, and he clutched his backpack tightly to his chest. “We need a bigger boat. I brought all our nacho sauce.”

  “Yum,” said Kira. She wanted to look at Samm, to see if he was
rolling his eyes or making some other outward sign of derision over Afa’s childlike behavior, but she didn’t dare, and she knew he wouldn’t be anyway.

  “It will get wet,” said Afa.

  “We won’t let it get wet,” said Samm. They shoved the boat farther from the shallow, inclined shore, and Heron and Kira piled in after Afa. They took the oars, and Samm pushed them even farther out before getting in himself. He was wet to the waist, and dripped and sloshed all over the bottom of the boat; Afa reached out dispassionately to knock him back over the side, but Kira held him back. They settled in, kept their weight as balanced as possible, and began to row.

  The river grew deeper and deeper as they rowed out into it. The lines of cars, stopped or crashed in their drivers’ last moments of life, looked like lines of squat brown animals slowly wading into a watering hole: Here was one with just its front tires wet; here was another with its engine submerged; here was one with its only the roof and antenna poking up from the water. They rowed without speaking, the water lapping at the edges of the boat, and soon even the diesel trailers and giant shipping trucks were submerged, with only the very tops shining up through the water like steep metal sandbars.

  The edges of the river highway were lined with trees, tall and no longer limited by human supervision; they had reclaimed backyards, parks, and even some portions of the road. Every mile or so they passed under a bridge, the old roadways between one side of the highway and the other, and often these were hung with moss and vines—not kudzu, but something with smaller, darker leaves that Kira didn’t recognize. She plucked one off as they glided beneath it, and she saw that it was waxy to the touch. She rubbed it softly between her fingers, wondering what it was called, and dropped it into the water.

  The greater hazard below the bridges were the flocks of waterbirds that had taken up residence there, streaking the concrete supports with yellow-white droppings. Under the third bridge a roosting flock was disturbed by their passage and flew away, first diving down before swooping away from the water and soaring high into the air. Afa flailed at them, startled by the sight and sound of a hundred swarming birds, almost toppling the boat, but Kira was able to calm him. She handed her oar to Samm and focused her attention on keeping Afa mellow. The river was long, even longer than they had expected, and Kira started to wonder how accurate their map had been. Right as she was ready to turn them around, certain they’d somehow missed their turn, they passed the ballpark Heron had seen on the map. Kira announced that they were close, and listened and nodded reassuringly as Afa told her about the technical specs of the data center.