Earthbound (The Reach, Book 1)

by Mark R. Healy

  Knile took a moment to steady himself, taking a few deep breaths and focussing on his objective. Then he lunged out across the gap, his fingers straining through thin air before latching onto metal. He caught the fire escape, his grip true and firm, and he swung himself up to safety and lay staring up at the sky, distractedly wringing his throbbing fingers.

  A couple of storeys above, he heard the noise of a window opening, then saw the head of an old woman poke out. She sniffed noisily and looked out across the alley. Her hair was dishevelled and unkempt, like she’d awoken suddenly, and Knile suddenly feared that he might have created more noise than he’d realised. The woman coughed, hawking noisily in her throat, and then she launched a wad of phlegm into the air before disappearing back inside and slamming the window shut.

  Knile breathed a sigh of relief.

  The fire escape above was broken and falling apart, thwarting any attempt to climb higher, so Knile surreptitiously raised himself up and peered in the nearest window. It was dark and still inside. Carefully, he dug his fingers under the window frame and began to ease it upward. Flecks of paint dropped from its edges, and it gave off a faint squeal of protest as it went, but soon he had lifted it high enough to allow room to squeeze through. He closed the window again to prevent the foul air outside from mingling with the filtered air inside the building.

  Knile found himself in a dark and narrow hallway and stood unmoving for a few seconds while his eyes adjusted to the gloom. In time he made out open bedroom doors lining either side of the passage, and from one of those he could hear the breathy sounds of people sleeping. He’d arrived inside someone’s apartment, it seemed. He edged along cautiously, hoping to avoid a confrontation if possible. He had no doubt that he could fight off or elude an average citizen, but right now he didn’t need the extra heat that would come down on him should the Enforcers be alerted to his presence. Well practised at moving in silence, he made his way past the first couple of doors in quick time.

  As he passed the next door he realised that some of those sounds he’d heard weren’t from people sleeping. In this room there was a couple rutting, moaning and whispering quietly on the bed under the cover of a blanket. Knile glanced at them briefly, seeing the covers rise and fall, and then a slender foot and ankle spilled out as the blanket slipped up. He paused, watching for a moment longer, not through some kind of voyeuristic amusement of the spectacle, but because of the odd thought that, from time to time, life carried on just the way it always had, with the same routines and behaviours of the old days.

  That thought chased him as he continued on down the hallway. These people, considered the middle class, were more fortunate than those in the slums. Even so, they were still no closer to escaping this planet than those who were trapped outside the walls of Link. They were in a kind of holding pattern, waiting for an off-world Sponsor to nominate them for a passkey, a ticket that would grant them passage up the Reach and, eventually, to one of the colonies further adrift in the solar system. But Sponsors were few and far between, and the acquisition of a passkey was, for the average man or woman, a forlorn hope. The odds of receiving one was akin to winning the lottery in the days when such a thing had existed on Earth.

  There was no formula, no blueprint for waiting out the end of the world. Governments had fallen apart after the initial evacuations took place, and now there was no action plan for the removal of the last few million humans left on Earth. As such, these people all approached their lives in their own way. Some continued to work hard, farming or performing a trade, saving every cred they earned in the hopes they could somehow buy a Sponsor, one of those elusive off-world benefactors who would nominate them for evacuation in return for money. Others simply accepted that they would never leave, eking out what happiness they could, raising a family or spending time with loved ones, knowing full well that their days would soon come to an end.

  Knile had, at one time or another, tried each of those approaches, and many more. None of them had ever brought him satisfaction, however, no matter how hard he tried. He had come to the conclusion that he would not find happiness until he could leave this world far behind. He’d tried to forget that fact out in the lowlands as he wandered from place to place, but after the news from Fallon, his true desires had come sharply back into focus.

  He needed to get out, and finally he had a very real chance of pulling it off.

  The hallway emptied out into a small kitchen, quiet and still at this hour, and more neatly contained than most Knile had seen out in the lowlands. He realised that he was starving, having not eaten for over a day, but the watch on his wrist was like a lead weight, a constant reminder that time was short. He kept on the move, heading to the front door of the apartment and twisting carefully at the locks, easing himself into the corridor outside.

  Knile made haste through the building, climbing the inner stairwell until he came to the roof exit. The door was barred with planks of wood, but since they’d begun to rot, Knile was able to tug and strain at them and eventually pull a couple away. He winced at the noise as they cracked and broke free from the door jamb, but there was no response from within the building from what he could tell. It seemed everyone was sleeping or otherwise occupied.

  Knile produced a lock pick and a tension wrench from his pocket, the constant companions of his misspent youth, and got to work on the lock. In seconds the mechanism disengaged, and the door to the roof swung open. A cool breeze from outside rushed in, slipping through the gap in the wooden boards and ruffling Knile’s hair.

  Outside, the sky was beginning to turn from violet to red as the sun approached. Knile crept to the edge of the roof and looked down into the street, seeing the indolent Enforcers talking amongst themselves far below. Scraps of their conversations floated up to him like dying sparks from a bonfire. He glanced across to the next building and took a moment to judge the gap between.

  It was further than he would have liked, but he was confident enough he could make it.

  No point turning back now.

  He backed up and steadied himself, eyes firmly on the gap. He exhaled slowly, then surged forward, hitting full speed in a few strides and launching himself across to the other building. He made it more easily than he’d anticipated, and ended up overbalancing and falling flat on his stomach. A flock of pigeons took off from the ledge nearby in alarm, and as Knile got to his feet he let out a choked laugh.

  “Perfect,” he muttered.

  He repeated the procedure again three more times, finding the narrowest gap to the next building and flinging himself across it, and although it was a roundabout way of reaching his destination, it got the job done. He left the blockade behind him and then searched for a way of getting back down to ground level. Each of the entranceways leading back inside the buildings were barred from the interior and he could not break through, so he ended up winding his way down a drainpipe and then alighting at street level unseen.

  He looked up and down the laneway, gathering his bearings. He was only one street away from his destination, he realised.

  Glancing up, he saw the upper half of the Reach already bathed in weak sunlight, obscured by the ever-present haze in the atmosphere. The day was fast approaching.

  4

  Alton Wilt stood on the balcony of his fifth floor apartment staring out across Link as the sun rose far beyond the Reach. The sky was a decidedly sickly hue, a washed-out shade of red hiding behind a ruddy pall of smog. The pollution, if anything, was getting worse.

  “Another day in paradise,” he muttered to himself, pushing his respirator aside and taking a sip of coffee that was so metallic in taste it was like licking a crowbar. He glanced down at it dubiously and was about to empty it over the railing before thinking better of it. He left it to stand on the ledge instead, watching as lazy curls of steam drifted into the morning air.

  If only we could all defy gravity so easily, he thought. If only we could soar at our whim.

  He’d developed a ritual of l
ate, a morning routine that was akin to meditation, a process that placed him in a relaxed frame of mind that would in turn prepare him for the day ahead. He would lift his gaze to the Reach, starting at where it met the rooftops of the city, then raise his eyes and follow its massive curves all the way up to where it disappeared into the haze high above. Then he would reverse the process, lowering his eyes all the way back down again. As he did so, he would visualise himself entering the Reach, striding through the gateway at ground level and ascending from one level to the next, passing through any barriers that might fall in his way without concern, without pause. He was a free spirit, a thing outside the laws that applied to others. He was destined to rise above the unfortunates who wallowed within Link, above those who could only dream of the future that was his alone.

  He would climb to the peak of the Reach and take his place on the railcar that sat waiting for him. He would be lifted up and out of this world forever.

  He would see Elia again.

  He thought of her, pressed inside the transparent capsule of the railcar, her eyes wild and fearful, and the vision fell apart. Alton was brought crashing back to Earth, his calmness and serenity shredded to pieces in an instant.

  The fantasy was shattered. The vision of Elia was not part of his routine. It was an interloper, a ruiner.

  Today, he would need to find some other way to calm his nerves.

  He turned and slid the door of the apartment open, stepping inside and closing it behind him. He took a moment to survey the room, contemplating what he saw. He was luckier than most. His abode was luxuriously furnished with a sofa, a working refrigerator, clean carpets. Plump black cushions with gold embroidery were haphazardly scattered across the bed, and therein lay the sleeping form of a woman, her long hair tangled as it fell across her bare shoulders and back.

  Alton watched her impassively. Last night the curve of her lips, her long eyelashes and her smile had made him content. They’d been enough to keep the demons at bay.

  But this morning, something had changed. He only saw the worst in her. He only saw defeat. She was a representation of all the ways in which he’d failed, the embodiment of his inadequacies.

  “Get out,” he said loudly, filling the previously silent room with noise and causing the woman to start suddenly awake.

  “Uh,” she said blearily, looking around in confusion and wiping dark strands of hair from her face. “Baby? What’s going on?”

  “Get out,” Alton repeated.

  The woman straightened and the bedsheets fell away from her body. Naked, she sat staring back at Alton, dazed, rubbing at one eye with her fist.

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  Alton strode over to where her clothes lay on the floor and scooped them up. He tossed them at her and they slapped into her chest, knocking her backward.

  “Hey! Alton, what the hell!” she said, surprised.

  Alton returned to the window and stood staring out, his arms folded across his chest. He made no attempt to answer her.

  The woman slipped on her panties and got to her feet, still trying to grasp what was going on. She moved around the bed, her blouse and pants dangling from her fingers.

  “Did I do something wrong?” She reached out a hand toward him.

  Alton turned his head sharply and she stopped short. In his periphery he could see the swell of her breasts and the pleasing shape of her hips as she let the clothes drop to her side. Nothing she did was accidental. She was using her body to gain his favour, to get her way. But this morning it was not going to work. Not on Alton.

  “I said get out. Don’t make me say it again.”

  The woman stood helplessly for a moment, then abruptly began to struggle into her pants, her movements jerky and pronounced to accentuate her rising anger.

  “This is bullshit,” she hissed. “This is wrong. Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? Do you know how many of your cronies I had to fuck just to get a chance with you?” She thrust her arms into her sleeves and tugged the blouse down irritably. “And this is what I get?”

  Alton said nothing. He turned away again.

  “You piece of shit,” she said, her voice cracking through the tears. “Don’t come looking for me if you change your mind. I’m done. I’m fucking done.”

  Alton waited as she slipped on her shoes and stumbled toward the door, sobbing. She slammed it behind her as she left, and then her footsteps disappeared down the corridor outside.

  Alton turned and looked across the dishevelled room, taking in the view of his extravagant earthly possessions. The shine of gold and silver and chrome, of soft and expensive fabric. They meant nothing. For a long time he’d tried to convince himself otherwise, but now he knew. Just as he’d found himself unable to derive pleasure from the woman, these possessions were now similarly worthless.

  He stepped back out onto the balcony again, not bothering to close the door this time.

  Alton looked up at the Reach and thought of Elia again. How old would she be, now? Twelve? Thirteen? Where was she, and what would she be doing? Had she made it to one of the off-world colonies?

  He still remembered saying farewell. She had been a tiny thing, a wisp of a girl. And she had been afraid, oh so afraid. Who wouldn’t be, heading off on a journey like that by herself? Being led to a capsule, strapped inside alone, and then drawn upward along a thin metal shaft into the blackness of space. An elevator to nowhere.

  It must have been terrifying.

  She hadn’t known it at the time, but in reality it was a gift. A privilege. She and those others who had journeyed up with her on that railcar were escaping, being given a chance at a long and healthy life. They were being given a future.

  “You go,” he’d said to her, wiping a tear from her pale cheek. “This is your turn. I’ll be with you in a day, or maybe two. That’s all.”

  Her features were so delicate, her skin like porcelain.

  “But I don’t want to go,” she’d wept.

  “Elia, this is the only way.” He’d clasped her shoulders. “The only way.”

  Although that elevator seemed to disappear into nothingness, there was a very real destination at its end. A place where their Sponsor was waiting, someone to look after her until Alton could follow. Once reunited, they would all travel to one of the colonies together.

  His mouth twisted at the thought of it. The Sponsor. He’d paid good money to have Elia’s name called, and his own as well. They’d taken his creds and made many promises in return, but since that day he’d never heard from them again. They’d never sent a passkey with his name on it. There was no way out without one.

  And now Elia was gone to who knew where? Taken away to some place that was a complete mystery to him. Alton had been left here with all of his money and all of his possessions, these glittering trinkets that were useless. They could never provide him the one thing he really wanted – someone to call his name, to put his name on a passkey and grant him passage off-world where he could be with Elia again.

  He needed another Sponsor, and yet none were forthcoming. Alton had a reputation, and that scared them off, he was sure of it.

  Now all he had left were broken dreams. His morning routine had kept him sane of late, but now even that was coming apart at the seams. He could no longer sustain the fantasy now that he finally understood the truth.

  He was never getting out of here.

  The mug of coffee still sat on the ledge. As he peered down at it he could see the reflection of the Reach on the surface of the black liquid. With a cry of rage he lashed out at it, sending it spinning from the ledge, tepid coffee flinging outward into the air as it tumbled toward the street below. It shattered on the asphalt with a loud pop, and white shards exploded through the air like shrapnel from a hand grenade.

  The fall would kill me, he thought morbidly. Yes, it probably would.

  His hands gripped the ledge and he leaned out over it.

  Why not? It’s the only sure way to leave th
is world.

  His stomach turned as he thought of never seeing Elia again, never hearing her voice. He glanced over his shoulder and spied the holophone sitting on the coffee table.

  Perhaps he should try one last time to send a message to her. What if there was a chance she might hear it, even if she could not respond to it?

  It might be worth a shot.

  He stalked over to the table and snatched up the holophone. It had been turned off for the night to prevent interruptions, and now he flicked the switch to reactivate it. He picked up a signal right away and navigated to the messenger, clicking on the contact he’d last used for the Sponsor. A warning popped up, indicating that he would be charged extra creds for off-world communication, and he swiped it away.

  He paused, wishing the right words would come to him. He felt tears begin to well up in his eyes and the holophone display went blurry.

  Suddenly the phone began to ring. The noise was so loud and so sudden that Alton started and almost dropped the phone. He wiped at his eyes and saw the familiar name of the person on the other end of the call.

  He sighed, perturbed, and almost dismissed the call. Reluctantly, he decided to take it.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “Well, good morning to you, too, Mr. Wilt.”

  “I’m not in the mood for chit-chat,” Alton said. “If you have something to say, then say it.”

  “What’s going on over there? I’ve been trying to call you all damn night. Where were you?”

  “I was busy.”

  “Oh yeah, I can imagine. Ladies, am I right?” Alton made no reply. “Well, I’m glad I caught you, anyhow. You almost missed out on this one.”

  Alton pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes?”

  “I’ve got one for you, finally. I did it, just like I said I would.”

  “I’m hanging up.”