by Jordan Rivet
Judith nodded. She was surprised at how sleek everything looked, despite its abandonment. Unfamiliar characters adorned the buildings, but there were English signs too. Designer names graced the looted shops. A stray high-heeled shoe lay on the pavement outside one. The modern architecture and gleaming advertisements made the emptiness that much more garish. They walked beneath an imposing chrome-and-marble high-rise.
Suddenly glass shattered directly in front of them. Judith jumped, reaching for Michael’s hand. Someone had thrown a bottle from a window above them.
A voice called down in an urgent whisper-shout. “Are you people crazy? Get out of the street!”
A man was leaning out of a fourth-floor window of the high-rise. The group stared up at him in surprise.
“Who are you?” Michael called.
“Did you hear me? Move! The patrols could come by anytime.”
They exchanged glances and darted toward the building where the face had appeared. The lock had a keypad, but as they were about to touch it, there was an electric buzz and the door opened automatically. They stepped inside.
Simon
Simon paced back and forth across the foredeck. Others had joined him, some wrapped in their blankets against the cold. They asked why they weren’t moving closer, why they couldn’t see anyone in the city, what had happened to all these half-sunken ships.
“I don’t know yet. We’ve got to wait a bit,” he told them. “We sent in a team of scouts.”
Simon stopped to gaze at the city, then shook his head and resumed pacing. He was keenly aware of the damaged propeller beneath the ship. He didn’t know how bad it was. What if they had to move on? It could take them days and more equipment than they had to repair the damage. And if they had to keep moving, where would they go?
He’d seen the lifeboat stop and three people climb out, but they had disappeared from view into the city. He wished they had a walkie-talkie or something. On a whim he tried turning on his cell phone, which had a few minutes of juice left that he’d been saving, but he couldn’t find a network. He allowed it to roam about, searching for a signal, until the battery died for good.
“How much longer, Simon?” the people asked. “When can we go ashore?”
“We’ve waited this long. Let’s be patient for a little while longer.”
Suddenly a large speedboat shot out from behind a wrecked cargo ship. It sped across the harbor, expertly dodging sunken obstacles. It halted between the city and the Catalina, blocking their path to the shore. They had been spotted.
The speedboat had the red flag with a yellow star of the People’s Liberation Army painted on its side. It floated near the Catalina, not approaching or making any attempt to communicate. Whoever was on board stayed hidden behind the cockpit. They didn’t seem to have noticed the lifeboat bobbing by the shore. But now the Chinese military knew that the Catalina had arrived.
“We’d better get off the deck,” Simon called to the people gathering to gawk at the speedboat.
“I want to have a look!” Horace called.
“We don’t know what they’ll do,” he said. “It’s not safe.”
“But they’re survivors!”
The people were desperate to see other humans who had survived the catastrophe. They had been isolated for too long.
“We can’t risk it,” Simon said. “Come on, everyone. Inside quickly!”
As the people on deck obeyed, Simon hurried up to the bridge. He had a very bad feeling about that speedboat. If it wanted trouble, they might not be able to get away in time.
Judith
The lobby of the building was an explosion of gold and polished marble. The high ceilings featured twin chandeliers. A full-length mirror along one wall magnified the light, bouncing it around the lobby and making it look bigger than it was.
Judith caught sight of herself in the mirror and was shocked to see how thin she had become. She’d always been trim, but now her bones jutted out from her hips. Her face had developed a pinched quality, and there was a permanent furrow between her eyes. She looked like she’d aged ten years.
The group looked around the deserted building, unsure what to do. Then a shrill ding announced the arrival of the elevator, making them jump. Polished golden doors opened to reveal a man in his fifties with salt-and-ginger hair and wide, light eyes that matched his hair. He wore sweatpants and an expensive-looking peacoat. There was a meat cleaver in his hand.
Michael stepped forward, putting himself between Judith and the wild-eyed man.
“We don’t want any trouble,” he said.
“Damn right you don’t,” said the stranger. “Are you people crazy? Curfews not up yet.”
“There’s a curfew?”
“You fresh off the boat or something?”
“Yes.”
The man took in their wet trouser legs and mismatched clothing. His almost-orange eyes didn’t miss much.
“I guess you are. All right, you can come up if you promise not to kill me.”
The three assured him they would do no such thing and crowded into the elevator, staying as far from the meat cleaver as they could. The man’s gaze bore into them, but he didn’t speak. Mellow instrumental music played in the background. The elevator stopped on the fourth floor, and the man gestured for everyone else to get out first. Michael exited the elevator backwards, keeping an eye on the stranger with the cleaver.
“Name’s Quentin,” he said. “I’m in the shipping business. Born and raised in Chicago, but I’ve been here in Shantou since the early 2000s.”
Everyone introduced themselves. Quentin took a key out of his coat pocket and opened one of the four doors on the floor. They followed him inside.
The apartment was spacious and modern, with marble floors, black leather furniture, and a bar that occupied much of the living space. Dirty clothes and food wrappers were strewn over the couches, as if the place hadn’t been tidied in weeks. Tall windows looked out over the street, and one was still partially open. Quentin gestured to the row of high stools and walked around to the other side of the bar. He set the meat cleaver on the counter behind him, keeping it within reach, and studied them. Judith felt like a student looking over a principal’s desk. She fidgeted on her stool.
“So what’s your story?” he said finally. “Lost backpackers?”
“We just arrived on a ship,” Judith said. “From California.”
“Come again?”
“Our ship is out in the harbor. There was nowhere for us to disembark in the US after the eruption, so we sailed here.”
“You navy?”
“I am,” Michael said. “But the ship’s a civilian vessel. A cruise ship.”
“We need food and water and help,” Judith said.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Quentin said. “You won’t find it here. They were talking about throwing out all the expats last week. I don’t think they’ll take kindly to new ones arriving this week.”
“Why?” Kim asked. “What happened here?”
Quentin snorted. “What didn’t happen? It all started when we got news of the volcano. I take it you haven’t been at sea so long you don’t know about that. Anyway, the experts get on TV and start preaching doom and gloom, telling everyone the crops are going to fail for five, six, seven years. The local government tried to keep the news outside the Great Firewall, but some of the broadcasts and a lot of the rumors made it here anyway. Everyone panicked, started smashing store windows and hijacking delivery trucks. I’ve never seen anything like it. Before the satellites failed, it sounded like people were doing the same all over the world.”
Quentin was talking so fast it was almost hard to follow him, to process what he was saying. Judith gripped her stool, as if it were tossing in a storm.
“I haven’t heard anything from outside the borders in a week,” Quentin continued. “There were earthquakes to the south, and I expected to see tanks rolling down the street any minute, but then we got hit with a typhoon like you wou
ldn’t believe. Made me regret renting a place so close to the sea, believe me. Everyone pretty much battened down the hatches—those who hadn’t already made a run for the countryside, that is. That’s when the PLA swept in and restored order. By the time the rain let up, they’d implemented a strict curfew and rationing system. Everyone gets fed, but if you’re outside anytime except between two and four in the afternoon, you’re shot on sight. Obviously, there’s not much you can do in that window.”
“What are you going to do?” Judith asked. She glanced at Michael, who had balled his hands into fists on the counter.
“They’ve got to let up eventually, so we’re pretty much waiting it out,” Quentin said, tugging at the pockets of his coat. “The expats have a message system going for noncurfew times, but we try to stay hidden. Like I said, there’s been backlash against us because we’re here eating up Chinese resources. Word is that we’ll get deported if we go into a full-blown famine, but I don’t think it’s any better elsewhere.”
Quentin stopped talking to open a Tsingtao beer he’d pulled from beneath the counter. He poured the whole thing down his throat, his Adam’s apple beating like a heart with each gulp. He must have been bottling up that story for days. He had to be lonely and stir-crazy—and possibly actually crazy, judging by the meat cleaver and sweatpants.
“All right,” he said, smashing the can against the bar counter. “Your turn.”
Judith gave an abbreviated version of what they’d been through and finished with, “So we came to check things out before we bring everyone else ashore.”
“How many people are on this cruise ship of yours?” Quentin asked.
“Over a thousand.”
Quentin whistled through his teeth. “There’s not a chance in hell. Sorry, folks. They’re not going to let a thousand foreigners into the city with resources as squeezed as they are. You’ll have to find somewhere else.”
“We can’t get much further on our fuel,” Michael said. “I don’t know if we’d even make it up to Taiwan.”
“Don’t bother with Taiwan,” Quentin said. “I heard the PLA took over three days ago. Now that’s something I never thought would happen in my lifetime. The same with other cities. The People’s Republic doesn’t do anything halfway. I’m sure the curfew and general sentiment toward foreigners is the same everywhere. You won’t find any help in China.”
Judith felt like the walls of the apartment were closing in around her. Nowhere to go. How was that possible? The government couldn’t just turn them away. Why would no one help them?
But she remembered that their own government had done exactly that—and threatened worse. She’d expected great acts of human compassion and altruism in the face of disaster, but they couldn’t count on anyone. Didn’t countries usually send aid when storms and earthquakes hit? Why was it so different this time? Was this truly the end?
Judith placed her hands flat on the cold granite counter of Quentin’s bar as the world shifted around her. She wanted to go back to the Catalina.
They couldn’t count on anyone but themselves.
Simon
Simon watched the PLA speedboat from the radio tower. Chinese words came through on the radio. They had been repeating for hours, an automated message like the one their own navy had put out that had enticed them to Guam.
Simon couldn’t see their lifeboat from this angle. It had been too long. The others could come back any minute. He was afraid they wouldn’t see the speedboat until it was too late. What would happen if they were caught?
He studied the harbor, worrying about Judith. How long could they wait if the boat didn’t come back? They should have agreed something ahead of time. It didn’t matter while the propeller was damaged, but as soon as it was fixed they’d have to make some hard decisions, especially if that speedboat called in reinforcements. If worst came to worst, would he be able to leave Judith and the others behind?
The radio crackled. A voice speaking in perfect English, but with an obvious accent, burst into the room.
“You are not welcome here. Please sail away from the harbor at your earliest convenience.”
Simon grabbed the microphone. “Hello? We need help. We are refugees, and we need a safe place to come ashore.”
“You are not welcome here. Please sail away from the harbor at your earliest convenience.”
“Please,” Simon said. “We’re running out of food and fuel.”
“We are sorry. You are not welcome here. Anyone coming ashore will be shot. You are welcome to leave peacefully at your earliest convenience.”
“We have nowhere to go.”
The message repeated like a record, but Simon was sure it was a human being at the other end. After the third “not welcome,” he slammed the microphone down onto the computer console. Not again. They had to get off this ship somewhere. Simon slumped into the swivel chair and put his head in his hands.
There was a knock at the trapdoor.
“Come in.”
“Simon?”
It was Mona Mulligan, the delicate woman whose son, Neal, had become friends with Esther. He didn’t know Mona well. She’d been ill for most of their voyage and had kept to her cabin. Now, however, she was tugging Neal up the ladder behind her in a firm grip.
“This isn’t a good time, Mona.”
“Neal has to tell you something.” She pushed her son in front of her, holding him firmly by the shoulders. “It’s about your daughter,” Mona said.
“Esther?”
Little Neal stared at his toes. He was wearing a pair of orange Catalina bowling shoes. A purple bruise swelled beneath his eye.
“I tried to stop her!” he said. “She hit me and made me promise not to tell anyone. I’m sorry!”
“Promise not to tell what?”
“She went to the city,” Neal mumbled.
“What?” Simon felt his world narrowing to the point of a pin.
“She wanted to see the city with Judith, so she hid in the lifeboat. She said there was a secret box for food and stuff.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir,” Neal said. “I tried to stop her. Honest!”
Judith
Quentin offered everyone beverages and snacks, chatting as if they’d come over for an after-work cocktail. Judith felt antsy. Despite the many times she’d imagined being on land, she wanted to get back to the Catalina as soon as possible. This apartment, with its sleek couches and huge bar, felt wrong. She wanted the warmth of the Atlantis Dining Hall, the sea-slicked decks, the comforting coldness of the rail beneath her hands.
“We should go soon,” she whispered to Michael.
Quentin had launched into a discussion with Kim about the Chinese diaspora that seemed weirdly normal in light of their circumstances.
“I agree,” Michael said. “I don’t like this.”
“Should we wait until curfew’s up?”
“That’s hours away. We don’t know what will happen when they notice the Catalina. I think it’s time to go.” Michael wrapped his hand gently around her elbow, spreading warmth through her arm.
“Okay. Quentin,” Judith said, not caring that she was interrupting his conversation with Kim. “Can you tell us how to get back to the harbor without walking right down the main street?”
Quentin took out another beer and popped the top. He took a long sip before answering. “Why don’t you stay here for a few hours? I wouldn’t mind the company.”
“We left a man in our lifeboat,” Michael said. “He doesn’t know about the curfew.”
“Fair enough. What are you going to do?”
“Keep sailing, I guess,” Judith said.
Quentin took another long drink of his beer. Judith wished he’d hurry it up.
“I’ll show you the back way out of the building, but I can’t promise it’ll be safe.”
“What about you?” Kim asked.
“Yes, why don’t you come with us?” Michael said.
“I’ve got a d
ecent setup here.” Quentin gestured around his chrome-and-glass apartment. “It’s more comfortable than any ship.”
“But didn’t you say they’d deport you?” Michael said.
“He doesn’t want to come,” Judith said. “We should get going.”
The shadows were lengthening outside. Simon and the others would be wondering where they were.
“I’ll be fine,” Quentin said, sounding less sure.
But Michael stood his ground. “It’s not right. I can’t leave a fellow countryman. You’re in danger here, and we can help you. At least you won’t be alone.”
Quentin tipped his beer back, finishing it off.
“You know, why not? That was my last beer, and I’m sick of having a curfew anyway. Let me grab some stuff.”
Within a few minutes Quentin had filled a backpack with clothing and bid farewell to his houseplant. The four of them left the apartment building and jogged down a back alley littered with broken furniture, trash cans, and bicycles. It smelled curiously clean, despite the debris. Judith guessed that even rotting food must have been consumed when people realized a famine was coming. They must hoard every scrap now.
Michael took the lead. He checked every entrance to the alley before Judith and Kim reached it to make sure no one was lurking. Quentin warned them to be as wary of civilians as they were of soldiers. The government was offering food rewards for anyone who reported curfew breakers. But they still hadn’t seen another soul.
The alley was quiet. Only their footsteps echoed between the buildings. They could have been the only people in the entire city.
Suddenly Michael stumbled, sending trash cans clattering across the alley. The sound was like thunder. Judith ran up and knelt by Michael’s side. His face twisted in pain.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Thought my foot was starting to get better after the beach,” Michael said. “Guess I was wrong.”
“Can you walk?”
“Have to.” Michael gritted his teeth as Judith helped him into a standing position. He leaned heavily on a barrel that had stayed upright when the cans around it fell. “Give me a sec,” he said, working his ankle in a slow circle.