Core Punch

by Pauline Baird Jones

  “Looks like a homemade pirogue.”

  “A pee row?”

  Vi grinned down at him. “A flat boat.”

  The figure on the admittedly flat boat showed signs it was difficult poling the craft against the current. The rain picked up, as did the wind, which had to increase the level of difficulty for the pilot. Debris pelted him as well. Fido barked encouragement. Or mockery. The canine had not appeared to approve of Joe. If it had returned, it had done it for Vi.

  This rescue is not something Vi could have contrived.

  Lurch indicated something that could have meant anything but managed to fall short of actual agreement.

  “It is not logical to be out here in this,” Joe said, sliding further down the ramp to stop it from falling forward, the water now over his knees.

  “Whoever it is probably thinks it’s Fido’s owner that is stranded out here.”

  Joe considered this. “They may not be pleased to see us. Or to learn that he is deceased.”

  “We should get on board before we tell him,” she agreed.

  The belt loader shifted more, and the water edged higher. Rays of sun flickered fitfully on the surface of the water, as if hope held out its hand at last. It would become increasingly difficult to leave this location as the storm moved closer. It was entirely possible that Lurch’s enemy had already fled. It could have had transport hidden somewhere close. There were craft that could fly through the storm, particularly craft with capabilities boosted by a resourceful—and evil intentioned—nanite. It made little sense to Joe for it to linger here, unless it still believed that Joe hosted Lurch. Was it truly that reckless?

  For several seconds it appeared as if the pilot would turn back, but his problem must have been a struggle against a stronger current, because the boat began to draw close, even as they experienced another, longer, current-caused shift of the belt loader. The water level was creeping up his legs when the boat bumped against the side of the belt loader.

  “Hurra,” the boat driver said, holding position with obvious difficulty. He winced as a large piece of debris struck him.

  Joe grasped the side of the boat and helped Vi onto the unsteady surface, then lowered himself onto the deck, just as the belt loader went over with a wake that almost capsized them. Joe hastily sat next to Vi, grasping the low sides of the dubiously constructed boat. Fido lay his head in her lap and looked at her with what Joe assumed was canine affection. Vi patted his mud-crusted head, then rolled her eyes at Joe.

  Now the pilot let the current help, using the pole to steer them past water-logged debris, clearly on a course that would take them around the building.

  “Where’s Bazoo?” the man asked, abruptly, his expression grim.

  “He’s dead,” Vi said, perhaps made confident in the face of Fido’s acceptance. Would their witness take sides in a dispute? There was more that could be told, but like Vi, Joe was not eager to tell the tale until they were in better cover. The wind pushed them now, too, in addition to flinging debris at them, and the rain stung where it hit the bare skin of his hands.

  “What ya doing out here in this?” He grunted as he steered the boat around the end of the massive structure.

  “We, um, came to rescue you.” Vi admitted, giving him a wry, though cautious grin.

  He could still dump them in the water.

  The old man gave a semi-toothless grin followed by a snorting laugh. He was an unattractive specimen. Weathered to the point of gaunt. Dirt instead of hair. Lots of dirt—except where the rain turned it to mud—on him and on his ragged clothing. The tooth deficit. But the eyes were bright and intelligent beneath fiercely bushy brows. The amusement didn’t fade when their gazes connected. There was another pole clamped to the bottom of the boat. Joe looked at it, mostly to look away from a gaze that appeared to know his thoughts, then at the man.

  “Do you require assistance?”

  “Ya ever steered a flat boat, laddie?” Joe had to shake his head. “I doubt ya’d like getting dumped in the drink if ya tried.”

  “How long has it been since you saw…Bazoo?” Vi asked.

  Joe recalled Vi had not spoken the man’s name at the cemetery, just identified him as a dirt-sider. Joe suspected it was not his real name.

  “Matter of several days, I guess. He was worried about Little Bit, but she turned up here without him.” He scowled. “Said she hadn’t seen him, now I think on’t.”

  Once around the building, it was a struggle to move the boat against the current; plus waves came at them from the water interacting with the structures. And even more debris. The man was stronger than he appeared, however. In light almost gone, Joe saw a sort-of ramp rising out of the water between the two large structures. One he guessed would have been the terminal building, based on the glassless gaps where windows used to be. The other was an odd, layered structure.

  A parking garage for land vehicles.

  That would be why a bridge extended from an upper floor to connect the two structures. Everything was coated in green, including the ramp that their pilot steered for. Low walls with broken gaps marked the line of the ramp up out of the water, possibly the route for those land vehicles, Joe supposed. Their pilot poled the boat wide, perhaps to avoid getting caught on the walls, then turned it between the wall line and headed in.

  Joe saw two people emerge from the left, edging down the ramp into the water as the boat approached. Fido gave a happy bark and jumped off, splashing all of them with filthy water. The dirt-siders did not seem to notice or care. The heavy rain failed to wash away their dirt, so perhaps they were what was known as “weathered.” Or of darker skinned descent. There were a few lightly brown skinned people among the Garradians, but the trend had been toward green and purple skin. Joe’s lighter tint was an aberration caused by some of his ancestors mating with some women of Earth. No one here knew he shared some of their blood. It was, as Lurch liked to think, not need-to-know.

  Vi clambered over the side into the knee deep water, so Joe followed suit, assisting the others to drag the boat up the ramp. They did not stop until it was somewhat under cover of the overhang. One of them produced a ragged rope and tied it to the frame of a broken window. Joe looked back, noting the waterline was only a couple of feet from the top of the ramp. It did not seem a secure mooring, but he conceded they did not have much choice until the water lifted the boat high enough to move inside.

  “Was getting worried about you, Jimbo,” the large woman said, her voice raised to be heard over the wind and crash of debris against the buildings. She studied Vi, then Joe, her heavy brows arching. “Where’d you pick these two up? Where’s Bazoo?”

  “They’s here to rescue us,” Jimbo said, with a grin that quickly faded. “Bazoo be dead. According to these two.”

  He turned without waiting for their reaction, leading them into the structure through a gap in the frame where an entrance had probably existed, based on its shape and disposition. The wind and rain followed them in, though the structure provided some protection from the worst of it. It also helped with the debris, but the sound of it hitting outside did not give much comfort. Joe looked around. Being inside was not as much of an improvement as he’d hoped. A long dank hall extended off one side, with a wide, dank space in the other. They walked through an ankle-deep, muddy muck that he did not desire to examine. The walls were green and black and reeked of mildew and mold, a smell the wind swirled around them, rather than clearing out. Mold was not healthy, but drowning would kill them faster.

  With the water rising, it was possible they shared this structure with displaced wildlife. There was nothing to keep anything out. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Vi’s hand move to rest casually, almost by accident, on her weapon. A small flick released the strap holding it in place. Joe duplicated her move though less casually. He would have kept it deployed if he could have without giving offense. As the moved deeper inside, he noticed what could have been the sagging remains of furniture. Counters lined the
back wall. The vague outlines of companies that looked somewhat like those still in service up above. Something new filtered into the mold and mildew. Gumbo? He sniffed with some caution and decided that was what it had to be. He loved New Orleans New gumbo and had smelled it often.

  “We found his body in Nawlins One.” Vi’s gaze flicked between the three faces. “Then were heading this way to offer assistance when the storm caught up with us faster than we expected.” She waited while they processed this, before adding, “I’m Vi, and this is Joe.” A lift of her brows and her smile eased the sudden tension some. “We’re real sorry about your friend.”

  She looked at Jimbo, her brows arched in a question. Joe found it interesting that her speech patterns had altered, edged with a hint of the Cajun intonations.

  “Jimbo.” His tone was sardonic, but not hostile. Yet. “Felonius.” He nodded toward a wizened old man, his skin so wrinkled, his face looked flattened. Black eyes peered out from beneath impressively bushy brows. “And that’s Speed Bump.”

  The large woman gave a short nod, her gaze still suspicious. Her hair had been trimmed close to her head. It had a pleasing shape, denoting intelligence. The rest of her diluted that denoting.

  “You mentioned Little Bit?” Vi said, mildly, looking around.

  “She don’t like thunder,” the one called Felonius said.

  “She be watching the gumbo,” Speed Bump added.

  “No one else has been down asking for us?” Vi asked, like she was curious, not worried.

  “Storm be hitting the city fierce.” Felonius’ dark eyes did not appear to blink.

  “No aircraft passed over?” Joe asked. He kept the question casual, though the answer mattered to him at least. If it had already left, then it wasn’t in someone here. His gaze slid toward Vi. He was sure she wasn’t it. A feeling from Lurch called him on the lie. Lurch had done nothing to reveal himself that Joe could discern, including not healing Joe’s injuries. If it was looking for proof, it would need to up its game some more. Or concede that Lurch was not present.

  “Not we know ‘bout.” Jimbo studied him, then turned without speaking, heading toward what might have been a stairway. “It’ll be drier up here.”

  The others followed. Vi exchanged a glance with Joe, then shrugged and followed. No one objected vocally to their presence, but Joe didn’t assume they were welcome. This was a closed system. He started up, surprised to find the steps were not even in height or width.

  It would have been a moving staircase, called an escalator.

  It felt a bit like a mountain to climb after everything that had happened. He hadn’t stood down exactly, but felt alert status trickle away at the fading of immediate danger. Vi’s shoulders were less straight and she used the dirty hand rail to climb, lifting each foot as if they’d increased in weight. Since water sloshed in his shoes, they may well have. He’d probably sweated off all the water he’d drunk for days inside the gear, so it was probably adding extra weight, as well. It wasn’t something like dread dragging him down. Dread that Vi had been invaded by it. Because if she had, she was the walking dead. It had never left a host alive when it moved on.

  Lurch had taken care to respect Joe’s personality and rights during its integration with him. His enemy had shown no such regard. Autopsies of previous hosts showed signs of violent integration and painful death when it chose to leave it.

  If it is inside Vi, the kindest thing you can do for her is end it quickly.

  I don’t believe she is the one.

  You do not wish to believe.

  There was no answer to this. It was also true that he’d never been in its presence, so he did not know what to look for, what to expect from one of its hosts.

  As they reached the next level, what light there was from outside faded. Vi flicked on her gear light and looked around, her light traveling over walls where small rivulets of water made paths in the green and blackened walls. The smaller streams turned into heavier channels where the trash-littered floors slanted street-wards. The whole structure seemed to shudder as the wind outside ramped up. The smell was most unpleasant, despite the gumbo.

  Ahead of them, Jimbo led the way toward an inner room lit only by a small glow.

  “I am not certain your boat is high enough to be secure,” Joe said. “They are predicting water levels of twenty-five plus feet.” They’d come up the ramp and the stairs and were probably high enough if the roof held, but the ramp had been close to covered when they left it. That rope would surely not be enough when the wind hit Cat 5 velocities.

  Jimbo hesitated, but Felonius spoke. “I’ll take care of it.”

  If the water was higher, it would be easy for him to move it on his own, Joe concluded. He did not wish to leave Vi alone with these people. Or these people alone with Vi? The thought was not comfortable. The old man moved with a spryness not consistent with his apparent age. They could all be younger than they looked. Exposure to sun caused premature aging to the skin.

  Vi began to move around the gumbo room, studying walls that also dripped, though somewhat less than the outer room. She stopped when she reached Little Bit.

  Joe stopped as well. This Little Bit was not little. She was disturbing. She sat silently in front of the source of heat and light, stirring a pot. Her hair was wild and tangled. Her eyes provided the only color for her entire aspect. They were light grey and as wild as her hair. He caught her staring at him, though she looked away when Fido padded over and stuck his nose in her, well, he greeted her in a canine manner. Joe almost sighed. Not only did they have strange names, they all had mannerism that could most adequately disguise an ill-intentioned nanite. Vi was the most normal person in the room.

  Which makes her a suspect. A pause. I am sorry.

  He’d had many black moments this day and was, to his surprise, still standing. He would hope until there was no more hope.

  Or it uses your fondness for Vi to kill you. If it does inhabit her, she is already gone.

  And that is why I believe you are wrong. It was the truth. He did not believe she was gone, did not believe it could mimic Vi even with access to her brain, access so completely that Joe didn’t feel the difference. She was…unique. All Lurch had was a kiss and a coincidence. It could have planted a virus in the skimmer while we were at the crime scene.

  But how did it get back here ahead of us?

  We do not know it is here. It could be monitoring us from anywhere.

  There was no way to know, because Lurch did not dare attempt a wireless connection until they identified a host for it, or they were once more shielded by normal connection activity in the upper city. Joe’s gaze followed Vi around the room. While this structure appeared solid and had endured for a long time, he lacked confidence in their ability to survive WTF from this location. An epic storm and an evil genius nanite were not good odds.

  Our odds were never great. But we must try.

  Lurch spoke the truth. Its enemy had no boundaries, did not care who it hurt. They, on the other hand, must do as little harm as possible. The impossible takes longer? Joe quoted Lurch and got a chuckle out of him that felt like someone tickling his insides. Almost he smiled, but his gaze once more encountered Little Bit’s. He shivered, despite the intense heat. His money was on her for evil nanite host.

  * * *

  Little Bit was one scary looking dirt-sider, Vi decided. Her flat, gray gaze was like all Vi’s teachers and Captain Uncles rolled into one. It took Vi’s signature Look offline, like it had never been, never would be again. Vi got her back against a damp wall and kept her hand close to her weapon while she studied the other dirt-siders. Seemed likely one of them had taken out Bazoo. Little Bit had not been with the others until yesterday, so that made her a prime suspect. Though Vi didn’t know how she’d managed to shield the body and get back here. And if Fido really was a witness, it wasn’t Little Bit, unless the dog was in on it. Which it could be. If Vi were the dog, she’d be pissed about being called Fido. When your na
me was Bazoo, there was no excuse for Fido.

  She’d have liked to talk to Joe, get his take on this motley crew, but there was a chill wind coming from him since the kiss. She half frowned, not from the kiss, but soon after. Maybe it took a while for his commitment phobia to kick in. Which meant he had liked the kiss? And got scared? Didn’t matter how far society evolved, guys stayed skittish about girls making moves. At least this made her feel slightly better about her kissing technique.

  Jimbo seemed to be the big dog, if one eliminated Fido. One couldn’t when the pooch had saved their lives. He stayed with Little Bit, but seemed to watch her with doggy devotion. Don’t get attached, she thought, my apartment is not pet friendly. If it was still up there.

  Storm be hitting the city fierce.

  So as not to think about that, Vi studied Jimbo. He’d also made sure his back was to a wall. Speed Bump drifted over by him, her arms crossed like a protective mama. Or girlfriend? That was kind of not fun to think about. Grand Paw Paw would have given her a love tap to the back of her head for not wanting to think it. He liked to say that youth—and love—were wasted on the young. At the moment, she could not disagree with him. He had Grand Maw Maw and all Vi had was some dubious devotion from Fido. She’d even run off the alien.

  The thick walls muffled, but did not shut out, the wild howl of the wind, the bang of debris, and the rain hammering against what was left of the roof. If this was the eye wall moving in, then it was getting to the part where WTF lived up to its acronym. They might be lucky enough to get the eye, then WTF would pound them from the other direction unless help arrived.

  She tried to think back to what she recalled from the weather updates. The data had come late, but that didn’t make it not real. She made an air map of Louisiana, then drew in the storm with what she could remember from that last uplink and what she thought had happened. The eye wasn’t big in a bad storm, but NON or NOO, up or down, it wasn’t that big. She played it a few times inside her head, then sighed. Even if they were lucky enough to get the eye, they’d have to survive the eye wall first.