Pipe Dreams

by Destiny Allison

  Suddenly, an image of Harry Rose appeared in her mind. He was the key to understanding Isaac. Though she did not know how or why she knew this, she trusted it like she trusted her feelings for Michael. Remembering the time she had spent with Harry as an assistant was difficult, but she raked through the years. Unlike the others, Harry had never hurt her. The most he ever asked her to do was to rub his back. For a time, he had even been kind. Vanessa had seen him angry only when Lewis had pressed him. There was something between the two of them she had only understood when Lewis took her as his assistant. Harry despised cruelty and Lewis was exceptionally cruel.

  She had been lying on her side, squeezing the small pillow against her chest. Now, she rolled onto her back and stuffed the pillow under her head, remembering Harry’s house. Richly furnished with ornate antiques, oriental rugs, and art objects from all over the world, every room had been a testament to his wealth and taste. For all its opulence, it had also been warm and comfortable. As she recalled that time, she realized Harry and Isaac enjoyed similar environments. Though Isaac had lived modestly in his small Brownstone, he had exquisite taste. Everything he had gathered around him was steeped in beauty and history. She easily imagined them in each other’s company.

  Something nagged at her, but she could not place it. Frustrated, she jerked the pillow out from under her and flipped it, resettling her head on its cool surface. Searching the recesses of her mind, she sought validation for her instinct. If the two men had known each other, the link between them would explain Isaac’s involvement. Her memories, however, were fading. Aching from exhaustion, her eyes grew heavy. She slowed her breathing and tried to sleep.

  CHAPTER 34

  The slap of her feet through sewer sludge exacerbated the hideous stench, but Ashley had grown accustomed to it. Forcing herself to concentrate, she cursed her lack of foresight. She should have grabbed the lantern from Mariah before fleeing. Now, she had to use the slimy surface of the pipe as her guide.

  The run had made her breathless, yet even after she slowed, fear for Jeremy kept the blood surging in her veins. She knew something bad had happened to him or he would have caught up with them. The others had been willing to leave him behind, but she couldn’t.

  At sixteen, the adults had started to take her seriously, but only on occasion. To them, she was just a kid. What they refused to recognize was that she had grown up after the rebellion and her early memories were about as real as her dreams. As such, she wasn’t bogged down with grief. The streets and alleyways were her playground and, for the most part, she loved her life. From what she had garnered from the books in the library, her circumstances were better than average.

  Until now, she had a home, food sources, and freedom unknown by most. She didn’t have bosses, lords, or ruthless dictators. The cell was free. Ashley was certain that if the others would stop worrying about what they had lost, they might discover what they had. The adults didn’t agree, preferring to think her foolish and headstrong. Their condescension was idiotic. Jeremy should never have been allowed to stay behind alone. How could they have let him? He was too sick to go back into a burning building by himself.

  She smelled the smoke before her fingers found the metal rungs that led to a narrow landing and service door in the side of the huge pipe. Unencumbered by the slow group with whom she had first traversed this path, the reverse trip went quickly. Her wet sneakers slapped on the hard-packed, dirt floor in the escape tunnel. Though thirsty from sustained exertion, she tried not to think about it as she hurried up the slope. Instead she concentrated on Jeremy.

  In her mind, she saw him clearly. His dark-skinned face could have been carved from rock and his bright, black eyes gleamed. She remembered the way his thin mouth had crinkled in concern on the day he had rescued her from the cold, winter streets. She had been welcomed into the cell and the warm, secret basement had become her home. What if it were gone? What if Jeremy was dead?

  She pushed herself to go faster. As she neared the end of the narrow path, the smoke got thicker and covered her mouth and nose with the hem of her shirt.

  Having been in the dark for so long, the sliver of light that filtered into the tunnel was a welcome relief. It outlined her exit, but she did not rush through. Instead, she approached cautiously, feeling for heat. Cool air greeted her and she hurried forward.

  A small, red bulb still burned in the ceiling socket. Other than the wisps of smoke that curled in the air above her head, the room was empty. Remembering the light Michael had taken from a shelf at the mouth of the escape route, Ashley turned, running back into the darkness from which she had come. On a dusty wooden shelf, just inside the entrance, she found an electric lantern. Turning it on, she crossed to the steel door that opened into the main tunnel. Where had Jeremy gone? What did he need so badly he would risk his life to get it?

  Turning right, she headed toward the basement. The concrete path led upward and her thin light showed rust red doors against gray walls and a worn floor. When they had fled after the fire started, she hadn’t bothered to count them, trusting Jeremy to lead them to safety. Not for the first time, she regretted her carelessness.

  Ashley turned off the lantern, hoping to orient herself in the familiar darkness, but it didn’t help. With the light back on, she moved up the sloping path, trying each door. The smoke was getting thicker. It swirled in thick clouds instead of fine wisps. Crouching low, she squinted against the acrid assault.

  When the seventh door opened into a room she recognized, she cried out in relief. Grow lights lit long, raised boxes containing precious seedlings. The room smelled wet, warm, and earthy. In spite of the smoke, the organic aroma gave her a small measure of comfort. She hadn’t expected to find the sanctuary intact.

  Ashley searched the room. At the beginning of each row of seed beds she called out softly, praying Jeremy would answer. Only silence met her urgent whispers. She wanted to yell, but the threat was too great. Somewhere above ground, the leaders of the NSO had their soldiers at work. A purge was underway and the men would be hunting. They had set the fire for a reason. She had to find Jeremy and then they had to get off the island. There was no other option.

  When all the rows had been explored, Ashley turned her attention to the back of the room where the supplies were kept. Big, plastic bins lined the far wall. Piles of bagged dirt and work benches – made from sawhorses and plywood planks – were strewn in front of them. Holding the lantern high, Ashley picked her way around the obstacles. She made slow progress as she checked underneath each bench and between every pile. Thinking she had found him, she startled once, but the two bags lying near each other were just an illusion. In the dim light, the lumpy sacks looked like a body curled on the floor.

  She continued to hiss as she walked, “Jeremy!” Then she heard an almost imperceptible noise. The scarcely audible moan came from a short distance away. She pushed past the plywood planks, shoving them askew in her hurry to locate the sound.

  It only took a minute to find him. Jeremy was sprawled on the floor next to an overturned bin and spilled seed packets. Rushing to him, Ashley dropped to her knees. As she touched his cheek, his eyes rolled open and he tried to smile, but the effort transformed the hard planes of his face into a Halloween mask. He burned with fever and a thin line of dry spit coated the corner of his mouth. “Oh, Jeremy!” Ashley exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”

  CHAPTER 35

  Wedged in the open back of the army transport truck, Ramirez tried to still his pounding heart. Every time the vehicle belched its foul exhaust, the other captives eyed him with barely concealed rage, as if he were responsible for their plight. The uniform of a watchman was despised by most and his had the insignia of a ranking officer embroidered on the lapel. By late afternoon, the truck was full. Ramirez sweated profusely as it lurched and lumbered across the city.

  He had been confident in his decision to surrender. Now, he regretted it. The grim faced militia had nodded when he explained who he was. Then they
had grabbed his arms and hauled him to the rear of the truck. As he climbed the ladder, with their guns at his back, he had pleaded with them. Their only response had been, “Tell it to someone who cares.”

  Now, Ramirez trembled as he contemplated his fate. The truck was headed to the Farm. Watchmen didn’t stand guard there and it was unlikely he would run into anyone he knew. If he did get lucky, and was offered a chance to explain himself, what would he say?

  A renegade cop, he had forsworn his duty by aiding and abetting the Fallen. Some of his actions would have been caught on camera and explaining his consorting and disappearance would be challenging, if not impossible. Ramirez glanced at the ragged man sitting next to him and, for the first time, regretted his uniform. Under the circumstances, he would be better off without it.

  The truck jerked to a stop before turning right toward the factory district. This part of the city was no longer inhabited. Even in its heyday, few people had lived in the industrial area. Since the rebellion killed manufacturing, the factories and supporting businesses had fallen into disrepair. Rusted smoke stacks, decaying metal warehouses, and crumbling brick consumed several blocks. Ramirez shivered in spite of the heat. As the truck neared the Farm, his breathing became labored.

  The NSO propaganda described the Farm as a place for the sick to heal, but Ramirez knew that wasn’t true. It had taken its name from its proximity to a fish farm that had operated for decades on the north side of the island. When pollutants from the nearby factories poisoned the fish, it had closed. Like that one, this farm specialized in death and disease.

  The truck’s brakes groaned in protest as it slowed to turn. At their approach, giant metal gates, housed in a high, concrete wall, swung open. The truck came to a stop in an enormous, paved yard. Ramirez barely had time to survey his surroundings before he was ordered onto the ground.

  Heat shimmered off the blacktop. A long, disorderly line of people stretched around the building. Black-clad militia stood guard, their fingers trigger ready on the submachine guns in their arms. Everywhere, the stench of misery mingled with diesel fumes and hot asphalt in the still air.

  In front of him, a little girl with long, black hair cried softly, tears trickling down her small, sweet face. None of the people around her paid any attention. Ramirez knelt down and extended a hand, but she shied away when one of the guards yelled. He stood and shuffled forward.

  His uniform stuck to his back. The plant’s high walls blocked any cooling breeze from the lake. Beads of sweat dripped from his temples and down his chest. Flies hovered over the line, buzzing incessantly. The little girl crossed her legs, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. After a few minutes, the smell of her urine added to the already unbearable odor in the yard.

  Ramirez sucked in a breath. The girl couldn’t have been more than four. Somehow, her accident was the most terrible thing he had witnessed yet. The small puddle forming at her feet articulated his futility better than any words. Like her, he was trapped in the terror of solitude and despair. Nobody cared.

  A disturbance in the line made him turn. People protested loudly as they were jostled. Ramirez scanned the crowd, searching for the cause of the commotion. When he found it, his eyes opened wide. Chief Bowen was shoving his way through the disgruntled bodies, fury coloring his heavy face.

  “Ramirez, what the FUCK are you doing here?” the chief bellowed.

  “The savages took me, Chief. They had me locked up. When the military came, I had my first chance to escape. Last thing I expected was to end up here. Bastards! You’d think they’d show some respect for the uniform, but they didn’t give me the time of day. I didn’t know what was going to happen. You’ve got to get me out of here.”

  “Yeah, well, you can tell me about it later. Let’s go. I don’t want to spend another minute in this shit hole.” The chief veered away from the line and guards, heading toward the plant’s main entrance. Ramirez followed mutely, grateful to have been plucked from the crowd. His situation was precarious. If he convinced his superior he had been captured and held against his will, he would presumably be allowed to return to the force, but in what capacity? They wouldn’t let him resume his duties as a detective. The wave of gossip and speculation surrounding his mysterious reappearance would be inevitable and disruptive to the ranks.

  Bowen led them through a set of double glass doors and into a lobby decorated in putrid shades of green and brown. They passed a reception area where a stiff-faced guard noted them with barely a twitch of his jaw. At the elevator, the chief hesitated. “You’ve got some explaining to do and it better be good, Ramirez. Some might be inclined to think you’ve gone rogue and I’m not sure I’d disagree,” he muttered, pushing the button to signal the car. Ramirez didn’t reply. He merely nodded.

  Cops were funny, he thought. If you got hurt, you were everybody’s hero. But if you got caught, you were immediately the object of suspicion. The situation implied one of two things: you were lousy at your job, and therefore not trustworthy, or you’d been turned and the concept of trust took on a whole different meaning.

  Once inside the elevator, Ramirez did his best not to flinch under the chief’s scrutiny. Self-consciously, he rubbed his jaw where a bruise from the kick he had endured still darkened his skin. Remnants of rope burn were also evident in the scabs that circled his wrists, though the marks were hidden under the long sleeves of his uniform shirt. He would have to find a way to reveal them, along with the road rash on his shoulder. The injuries he had sustained were minor, but they might be convincing.

  The elevator door opened across from an industrial looking office on the fourth floor. Brown, bland, and non-descript, the furniture revealed little about the person to whom it belonged. It could have been any managerial office in any plant anywhere. In front of him, a half-empty glass sat on an end table next to a knobby, brown couch. Bowen gestured to his right. Near a makeshift kitchenette, another table was encircled by four chairs. Ramirez crossed over to it and sat while the chief approached the couch. “Lewis, you awake?” he whispered. Ramirez was surprised. He had assumed they were alone in the room. Lewis rose from the couch and sat unsteadily. He reached for the glass and swallowed the remaining liquid. Then he held it to his temple, as if in pain.

  Like a cartoon character, Bowen slunk around the couch, his movements incongruous with his bulk. When he reached the front, Lewis jumped to his feet and hurled the glass at the chief’s head. Bowen ducked. The glass soared through the air, crashing against a row of metal filing cabinets on the far side of the room.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Fucking imbecile! Useless piece of kiss-ass crap! You sneaking up on me, Bowen? Is that what’s going on? Huh? You going to take me out while I’m sleeping? Is that it? You worthless slug! You ungrateful bastard!” Lewis yelled.

  “No. No, Sir. I’m just waking you up. I got my man out of the line. I brought him here to show you. It’s okay. You’re just a little groggy. I startled you is all.”

  Ramirez was wide-eyed at the chief’s groveling. Bowen had always been a bully – gruff, blunt, and crass. Usually, other people cowered against his rages. As Lewis continued to hurl curses, accusations, and objects at hand, Bowen backed away. His darting eyes suddenly fixated on Ramirez.

  “Behind you, Sir. Look behind you. I’m telling you the truth!” Bowen pleaded, pointing his finger at Ramirez. Lewis spun around, clenching his hands and quivering with rage. Ramirez did not move. Instead, he cast his eyes down, focusing on the beige carpet under his feet. As fast as the storm had arrived, it ended.

  “I understand you had a near miss. The men can get a little carried away. Please forgive them, and me, for any concern they might have caused. We pay them to follow orders, not to think,” Lewis said, revealing no trace of his previous anger. Ramirez tried not to stare at the multitude of raw wounds that crisscrossed Lewis’ face. Though not deep, the ugly cuts glistened with antibiotic ointment. In his tailored suit, Lewis was monstrous.

&nb
sp; “Yes, Sir. In all honesty, I was pretty nervous when they picked me up, but also relieved. Without them, I wouldn’t have escaped,” Ramirez replied.

  “Hmmm. Escape. From whom, I wonder? I must say it surprises me that one of Chief Bowen’s esteemed officers found himself in that sort of predicament. It’s highly unusual. Don’t you agree, Chief?”

  By this time, Bowen had made it back around the couch. He threw an uneasy glance at Ramirez before answering. “I was thinking that myself. Yeah. It’s about time you explain yourself. Go ahead, boy. Let’s hear it.”

  “I was working on the Vanessa Kovalic case. The captain told me you were dissatisfied with my initial report and wanted me to dig deeper. I decided to interview her directly. When I got to her apartment she let me in, but when I started asking questions about her relationship with a man named Isaac Cohen, she pushed past me and fled. I followed, but lost her in the park,” Ramirez lied. He paused for a moment, noting the glances between Lewis and the chief at his mention of the old rabbi, and then continued.

  “I climbed a tree, hoping the height would give me a better view. I didn’t see Kovalic again, but I had to wait in the tree for longer than expected. The Fallen were in the street below me. I didn’t want to risk detection. You understand. It was after dark and I was alone. Early in the morning, a different group of men appeared. Chief, I thought they were the cannibals. They sure as hell looked the part. They grabbed the girl below me. I couldn’t let them eat her. I know she’s one of the Fallen, but no one deserves that, so I chased them. As I was running, I got tackled from behind. I tried to fight, but they overpowered me. They tied me up and took me. When the soldiers came this morning, my guards got scared and ran. That’s when I ran, too. The soldiers picked me up when I called for help. The rest, you know.”