Pipe Dreams

by Destiny Allison

  Rounding the corner, he caught a glimpse of the perpetrators cutting across the parking lot of an abandoned gas station. He followed, pushing himself harder, and managed to gain on them, in spite of the burn in his lungs. After several blocks, they slowed. Ramirez dropped into an alcove to watch what they would do. They stopped in front of an old fire station. The one who had his hands free put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. After a moment, a door opened. The men hurried inside, carrying the screaming girl with them.

  Ramirez bent over and put his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Alone, with a limited number of bullets, no back up, and no way to call for help, the situation was bleak. His only recourse was patience. He pulled as far back into the shadows as he could, without losing his line of sight, and settled in to wait.

  CHAPTER 13

  Vanessa’s heart was in her throat. Waiting for Ramirez, she licked her lips, trying to ignore her thirst. The tall, black man had emerged from the bar, limping. Then he had hobbled away. He returned soon after, hopping on crutches and accompanied by a group of people. Two of them wielded a crude stretcher. Others carried flashlights. A heavyset woman in a green sweatshirt gave orders. She had a small, black carrying case in her hand. As a unit, they shuffled inside the building.

  When they came out, the procession was reversed and the man who had chased her lay unmoving in the stretcher. The group disappeared up the street, but the black man remained behind. He reeled backward until his body hit the building. Letting his crutches fall, he sank to the ground. His shoulders shook and his loud sobs echoed, ragged and raw.

  In the tree, Vanessa trembled violently. The man’s grief sucked all the air from the morning until everything was consumed by his ravaged wails. Suddenly she was also crying, unable to restrain her rage and hurt any longer. Blinded by tears, she felt her way through the branches and dropped to the ground. She staggered toward the man, holding her sides as if the pressure would stop her from flying into a million pieces. He did not move as she approached. Finally, she stood in front of him with her hand outstretched.

  Vanessa did not know who he was, why his friend was chasing her, or what had brought him to this broken state. She only knew that he was unafraid of being human. He reached out to grasp her hand, tenderly pulling her down until she kneeled before him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said between racking convulsions. “I’m sorry.”

  He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. “I have waited a long time to meet you, Vanessa. This isn’t how I wanted it to be, but I’m glad you came.” Bruised by too much hurt, his voice was a scratch.

  “I saw what happened to the girl,” Vanessa whispered. His face quickened.

  “To Ashley? You saw what happened to her?”

  “Ashley,” Vanessa repeated. Her name fit. The girl was fragile, soft, and beautiful.

  “Vanessa, I need you to tell me everything. Can you do that? Can you help me?”

  She took a deep breath and recounted the story. “We have to go,” he said when she finished. “We have to go now.” He reached for the crutches and stood. Vanessa pushed herself to her feet and they walked up the street. As he limped along, she asked his name. A wave of disbelief crossed the hard planes of his face and he apologized. “My name is Jeremy, Vanessa. I’m hoping we can be friends.” The idea of friendship was so strange that she choked out a rough laugh. Jeremy glanced at her sharply, but a lifeline as thin as cobweb stretched between them.

  The morning sun was high in the sky when he steered them into an alley. Halfway down the brick-walled corridor, he stopped to whistle. When his signal was returned, he pointed to a large crack in the building. “You’ll have to carry one of these,” he said, gesturing with a crutch. “I’ll have to lean on you so I can show you the way.”

  Vanessa swallowed hard and let him lead her. He handed her a crutch and placed his long, stringy arm around her shoulders. “Are you ready?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he guided her to the opening. The recessed concrete created a small opening behind the brick. At his nudging, they sidled through it, entering a dark tunnel. Vanessa tensed. She had never liked closed spaces.

  He pushed her forward. As they inched into the black, she balked. The darkness squeezed her chest and she could not breathe. Spinning around, she tried to shove him out of her way, but he was indomitable.

  “Vanessa, there’s no other place for you to go. It’s going to be okay. You just have to trust me.” His voice soothed her and the panic receded. She asked him to keep talking and he did, teaching her how to count steps so she would not get lost in the tunnel.

  The path widened as they made their descent and soon they were side by side. She clung to him, even as her body supported his weight. Eventually he stopped. Handing her the other crutch, he opened a door, filling the tunnel with warm, yellow light. They stepped into a huge room and her mouth dropped open. Was this Jeremy’s home?

  Immediately, people surged around them, all talking at once. The surreal environment and chattering voices overwhelmed her. Dizzy, she blinked rapidly and tried to make the sensation go away, but her efforts were futile. She dropped the crutches. They clattered as her legs buckled and she fell to the floor.

  A woman’s voice filtered into her consciousness. Someone called for water. When she opened her eyes, the woman in green hovered over her. “Vanessa, can you hear me?” Dry mouthed and fuzzy, Vanessa did not reply. Fingers snapped in front of her face and she jerked, startled. The woman smiled. “When was the last time you had something to drink?” she asked. Vanessa was silent. Who were these people? Kindness? Concern? This was not the world she knew.

  The woman bent down, placed an arm underneath Vanessa’s head, and lifted her. Then she placed a cup on Vanessa’s lips. “Drink,” the woman said. Vanessa did and the water was sweet. She took the cup and drank a long swallow, cooling her burning throat. “Can you stand?” the woman asked. Not waiting for an answer, she helped Vanessa to her feet and put her arm around her back. ”Come on, girl. Let’s get you comfortable.”

  In the library, Jeremy sat in a worn, leather chair. One of his legs rested on an ottoman, a heavy bandage around his bare foot. Two men occupied an adjacent couch. Vanessa hesitated, scanning their faces. She needed to understand this place.

  Jeremy smiled reassuringly and waited for her to find a seat before continuing his conversation. She listened quietly, learning a great deal. Michael, the man who had chased her, had a broken leg, a concussion, and might be bleeding internally. The woman in green was named Mariah. She was the medical expert in the group and her concern was palpable as she described Michael’s injuries.

  The conversation turned from Michael to Ashley. Jeremy told the story of the girl’s abduction and Ramirez’s pursuit. As the group argued about what to do, Jeremy swiveled to face Vanessa.

  “What can you tell us about the detective?” he asked.

  “I think he’s a good man, but I don’t know him.” How could she tell them about the way he had covered her nakedness, or why he had needed to do it? She couldn’t. Instead, she told them he was passionate, efficient, and competent. She had been impressed by his behavior in the park, in the tree, and on the street. When he went after the girl, she had cried with relief.

  The heated discussion resumed. Finally, Jeremy held up his hand, stopping the debate.

  “At this point, I’m unwilling to risk any more people. In spite of what Vanessa said, I’ve never met a cop I could trust. We have no idea what his motives are, or why he went after Ashley, so we have to assume the worst. Until we know different, that’s the way it’s going to be. Everyone stays inside today in case the bone people come back. I’m going to sleep for a few hours. Then we’ll talk again. Mariah, wake me if anything changes with Michael. Vanessa, please come with me.” He held out a hand. She took it, relishing its warmth, and stared at him in wonder.

  “Who are you people?”

  He paused, assessing her. Then he sighed. “We’re survivors, Vanessa. Just
survivors.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Past the living room, a curtained hallway provided access to the bedrooms. Jeremy led Vanessa to an unoccupied one. When she was resting, he limped to his own small room. A red comforter lay in a tangle on his double bed, along with a few rumpled shirts and a plethora of pillows. Next to the bed, a reading lamp sat on a wooden nightstand. Hooks had been pounded into the concrete wall at the rear of the room. On them, jackets, pants, and sundry clothes hung in disarray.

  Wearily, Jeremy heaved himself on the bed and gently pulled a pant leg over his injured foot. In his haste to reach Michael at the bottom of the stairs, he had stepped on a nail embedded in a rotting plank. It had pierced his flesh all the way to the bone. In spite of Mariah’s careful treatment, the wound throbbed. The pain compounded a headache from hell. Ashley was gone, Michael’s injuries were grave, and he hadn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours. Groaning from the exertion of undressing, he fell back on his pillows and turned out the light. He didn’t wake until Mariah came to check on him a few hours later.

  “Any change?” he asked as soon as she touched him.

  “No,” she replied.

  Jeremy grimaced. “Where’s Vanessa?”

  “Sleeping. I checked on her first.”

  “Good. When she wakes, give this back to her and come get me.” He said swung his legs over the bed, reached for the worn backpack he had taken from her and handed it to Mariah. Then he picked up the crumpled cargo pants he had tossed to the floor. When dressed, he grabbed the crutches and hobbled to the infirmary.

  They did not use the long, rectangular space often, but Mariah had insisted they maintain it in case of emergency. Well stocked with bandages, ointments, sutures, and other supplies, the only thing they didn’t have was medicine, but that couldn’t be helped. Mariah was not a doctor, but she had been in her final semester of nursing school when the violence broke out. Ignoring the order to triage, she had braved gunfire, grabbed her daughter, and found Jeremy. In the years since, she had diligently administered to her patients, but this was the first time Mariah had really tested her skills. She readily admitted Michael’s injuries might be greater than her ability to help.

  At the far end of the room, Michael lay on a narrow bed. In the thin hospital gown, he looked vulnerable and small. His leg had been set. The thick, white plaster contrasted with the gray blanket on which it rested. A giant lump protruded from his forehead, his skin was pale, and his breathing slow.

  Jeremy laid a hand on Michael’s arm and winced. The arm was cold. He found another blanket and covered his friend, taking care not to wake him. Then he eased himself into a chair, ran his hands through his short, wiry hair, and blinked back tears. Michael was the only family he had left. Together, they’d survived the ghetto, the rebellion, and six long years of hell. If Michael died, what was left?

  When Mariah came, he was slow to move. Heavy-limbed, he pulled himself out of the chair and leaned over to stroke Michael’s head before grabbing his crutches and limping out of the infirmary. He couldn’t put off talking with Vanessa any longer.

  Jeremy found her in his favorite chair in the library. She had showered, changed into clean clothes, and her thick, wet hair was pulled back from her face. Though shell-shocked, she seemed somewhat refreshed. He didn’t waste time with small talk.

  “Vanessa, I’m sure you’ve got questions. I’ll answer what I can, but first I want to tell you some things about us,” he began.

  Vanessa interrupted him. “Are you rebels?”

  “No. Not really. Well, maybe we are, but it’s not that simple. We were part of the People’s Protest, if that’s what you’re asking.” Sighing, he settled more comfortably on the couch. He told her about being part of the organization, the thrill of trying to do something that mattered, and the frustration he had experienced when the protest began to fall apart. She listened without comment, twirling a lock of hair around a finger.

  “The protests were collapsing,” he continued. “In some cities, they disbanded completely. In others, they rioted. Here, we were divided. Some of us wanted to lobby for change, but one cell thought we were wasting our time and wanted action – the real kind, with guns and bombs and shit like that.

  We were pretty scared. We didn’t see how they could manage to get a revolution going, but there had been other rebellions around the country. Little ones sure, but what would it take for everything to get out of control? We worried about something like an Arab Spring. Still, we didn’t want to be on the wrong side if it happened, so we planned for contingencies.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We had a warehouse. My cell was responsible for getting things we needed – food, clothing, tents, office supplies – all the stuff we’d used for the protest, but we’d been careful with the donations. We had a lot stored up, just in case. Then the rebellion happened. At first, most of us thought the violent cell had done it, but without phones or internet, we lost touch with the other people we’d been working with. Nobody really knew anything and everybody went underground,” Jeremy replied.

  “What happened to the other cells?”

  “We’ve managed to stay in touch with a few. It’s not easy. The NSO has cameras everywhere. Besides, there aren’t many left. Without food and heat, winters are hard.”

  “What about the others? The violent ones?” Vanessa asked.

  “We don’t think they had the means or manpower to carry out any kind of real attack. Maybe they did. Maybe they got some shit going, but they couldn’t have killed the internet and phones and everything. They were more the window-smashing, bottle-throwing type. They talked big, but…”

  “Then what about the rebellion? If the People’s Protest didn’t do it, who did?” Vanessa interrupted. The table lamp cast a warm glow and emphasized the shadows under her eyes. She had pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, sitting like a child in the oversized chair.

  “We don’t know. The NSO is bullshit. That much is certain. We think they had something to do with it. That’s why we’ve wanted to talk to you,” Jeremy said.

  “Why me?”

  “Because you were an assistant. You had access.” He shot her a glance. She met his eyes and hugged herself tighter.

  “How do you know?”

  “Toward the end of the second year, an assistant found us. Or we found her. Something had scared her and she split. We picked her up, half-frozen and starving from the dumpster she’d been hiding in, and brought her back. She’s the one who gave us the first clues about what might have happened, but she didn’t know much, just pieces.

  We knew we needed to find more like her who could help us put it all together. She gave us your name and helped identify the other assistants. Some of them we’ve managed to pull in, but some disappeared before we ever got the chance to talk to them. As far as we know, you’re the last of them.”

  Vanessa closed her eyes and gripped her knees. In spite of her shower, dirt was still trapped under her short fingernails. He looked away, focusing on the titles lining the giant bookcase behind her. When she shifted her legs, he refocused his eyes and waited for her to speak.

  “Go on,” she said.

  “Generally, we’re just trying to survive. Finding food takes most of our energy. We don’t know for sure what’s true and what’s not. Information’s hard to come by.” Jeremy sat forward. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out before continuing.

  “Vanessa, I think if we had a real picture of what happened things could be different. If we knew what was really going on, we might be able to do something about it. I’m hoping you’ve got the missing pieces.”

  “Where are the other assistants now?”

  “They didn’t make it, Vanessa.”

  “I thought you took them in.”

  “We did, but that doesn’t mean they stayed. You know what they’d been through. You’ve been through it, too. They were crazy. I don’t mean to be cruel, but they were. Shrieking and yelling
and crying all the time, frightening the kids half to death, running around naked and coming on to the men in all sorts of ways. We did the best we could for them, but in the end, we couldn’t keep them. Most of them bolted once we let them back outside. The first one killed herself. Slit her wrists in the shower. Can’t say as I blame her. Can’t blame any of them really. When I saw you faint earlier, I thought you’d be like them, but you’re not, are you?”

  Vanessa's eyes glinted, but the tears did not spill. Ignoring his question she asked, “So what do you know?”

  Jeremy frowned. He had watched her on many early mornings as she put fear aside to savor a few quiet minutes in the sun. Her attention to Isaac and the way she met his eyes revealed strength. She had been beaten, but she wasn’t broken. She could be an ally.

  “We don’t know enough, that’s for sure.” He paused, gauging her reaction. She leaned forward with her hands in her lap and he continued.

  “But we do know the NSO is culling its own population. That’s been a problem for us. Too many people are wandering too close to our neighborhood and they’re hungry. Really hungry.

  We also know supplies come into the Zone and nothing goes out. That’s suspicious all by itself. If the rest of the world is fighting and diseased and shit, where are the supplies coming from and how do they manage to get here consistently? Where’s the money coming from to pay for them? And why, after six years, are we still without communication with anybody else? I mean, if the people on the mainland are well enough to supply the NSO, aren’t they well enough to fix things? We still don’t have phones, internet, radio, or TV. That’s got to mean someone’s got a reason for keeping the city isolated. We think the administrators set up the whole thing, but we don’t know why or how. Until we do, we’re powerless against them.”