Archipelago N.Y.: Flynn

by Todorov, Vladimir

  “Please… Flynn…please,” the man said, his voice hoarse and full of pain.

  Suddenly, Flynn recognized the face under the thick layers of dirt! The man used to be his neighbor. Lived in the very same building… before disappearing a few years back. Mullins was his name, Flynn remembered, and he had worked as a doctor’s aide in the Infirmary. Once a healthy young man, big and strong and full of energy, Mullins was now a shadow of his former self! The sight of his gaunt face and sunken eyes sent shivers down Flynn’s spine. He remembered all the whispering that went on after Mullins had disappeared…That he might have been involved with a rebel group… planning some kind of an uprising against the Government… talking about change, a new beginning! And then, Mullins was gone! Everybody thought him dead, killed by the Van Zandt militia… But here he was, alive… just barely so! A crushed and broken man … an example of what awaited those who dared to rock the boat!

  Slowly, the man raised his arm and extended a hand toward Flynn. The hand was shaking like a leaf, begging silently. Flynn threw a quick glance around. There was no one else, just him and the Waste Crew. The men had stopped moving and were staring at him and the fish. Flynn stood stock still. To his surprise, an overwhelming sense of pity began to choke him. Normally, Flynn would ignore other people’s misery and carry on with whatever he was doing. Hardship on the Lower Side was taken for granted… you just got on with your life… But now, without thinking, he dug into the bag, took out the largest of the fish steaks and tossed it to Mullins.

  Trembling with excitement, the man caught the fish, bowed his head and whispered his thanks. Flynn nodded and stepped on the pedals, somehow managing to squeeze his raft past the Waste Crew’s barge, without retching his guts out. Just before going round the corner, he glanced back over his shoulder. All four men were tearing at the fish like a pack of wild animals, grunting as they gnawed at the raw meat.

  Shaken from his encounter with Mullins, Flynn turned and steered the Seeker into the entrance of his building. Its large doorway was nothing more than a gaping hole in the outer wall, with rusty armature wires sticking out from its broken edges. Once inside, Flynn realized he was still holding his breath… Not that the place smelled that much better, but compared to the Waste Crew’s barge, the stench of rot and decay inside the building was a lot more bearable. Flynn was now moving through the building’s docking area, where the entire sea-level floor had been gutted out to make room for dozens of boat slips. With all partition walls removed, Flynn’s building boasted one of the largest and most cavernous spaces on the Lower Side. The only remaining parts of the original structure’s interior were its staircase, the elevator shaft and the support beams. Those were covered in black slime and barnacles, rising from the murky pool of water and reaching two stories up. Before the Flood, the docking area had been the thirtieth floor. Testament to this was the stenciled number ‘30’, still visible on one of the columns. Now, it was known simply as the “Marine Floor”.

  A few dim lights flickered on the damp walls, barely illuminating the floating slips. This was where the boats and rafts of the residents were safely moored for the night. Flynn's raft glided through the greenish-brown water, pushing away the floating garbage in its way. It bumped gently against the car tires that lined Flynn’s designated docking spot. After securing the Seeker to the tires with some rope, Flynn bent over the side and reached under the raft’s platform. His hand found the hatch to his secret compartment hidden inside one of the rusty barrels. Flynn pulled it open. With a brief glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was looking, he started taking his stash out, stuffing it inside a mesh sack. He worked quickly, his movements well practiced. A minute later, the compartment was empty. Flynn closed the hatch, shouldered his sack, collected the rest of his diving gear and headed for the stairwell.

  The smell in the air changed as he climbed higher up the building. He was now negotiating the rusty metal steps of the fire escape which ran all the way to the main roof. Gradually, the stench of the sewer barge and the rot in the basement were replaced by the delicious smell of cooked food. The whiff of fried fish and mussel stew was so overpowering, it made Flynn’s stomach rumble loudly. He had also picked up the very distinct aroma of fried meat… Rat meat and squab. Flynn felt his mouth water and remembered the day when Madison Ray had sneaked a couple of pigeons from her farm for them to cook…. Squab was a rare treat… Rat meat was more common on the Lower Side. But rats were hard to catch, no matter how many traps were set around, usually using fresh water as bait. They were clever little bastards, thought Flynn. And how did they manage to find drinking water was anybody's guess… But having seen them in the waste barrels, Flynn had gone off rat meat. He was no longer tempted even by the delicious, Peking-style ones, cooked in spicy seaweed and octopus ink.

  Flynn climbed past the first few floors, trying not to stare at the people who lived there. This had once been a magnificent office building, but by now nothing remained of its former glory. It was an indoor maze. All kinds of junk had been used to create partitions and to turn the open spaced floors into tiny, makeshift apartments. What was considered an apartment on the Lower Side was more or less a small cubicle of a room, and not much else. Residents who were single weren’t allowed an apartment of their own… Like it or not, they had to share bunk-beds with others… Sometimes as many as seven occupants would cram into one unit and call it their home… Those who were fortunate enough to occupy cubicles next to the outer walls had built extensions and could enjoy a little bit more space. These add-on living quarters would protrude outward from the building, some of them reaching so far out as to create a bridge to the building across.

  Clotheslines, heavy with the day’s laundry, were strung everywhere. The washing of clothes was done in the canal waters below. There were hoists with baskets at the backside of each building, used by the occupants to lower their clothes to the Laundry Platform at water’s level. That was where everybody washed too, but personal hygiene was not top of the list on the Lower Side... Well, those who cared to stay clean did their best, thought Flynn… The ones who didn’t, simply went about their business, not giving a damn, stinking of rancid sweat and dirty feet. Most of the kids Flynn knew fell into that category… Unlike them, he was proud of his overall appearance. He would spend so much of his time diving that his skin and hair were in excellent condition. He had only two pairs of shorts and three shirts, but he made sure they were always clean and mended… And people were beginning to comment on how handsome he was looking… Flynn had to admit he was enjoying all the attention … especially from some of the girls in the building… Just now, he had caught a couple of them peeking from behind their cubicle doors, giggling and blushing as he passed.

  But instead of stopping to chat, Flynn chose to ignore them. He kept climbing, taking two, three steps at a time. Finally, he emerged onto the main rooftop and looked up at the building’s tower extension rising before him. It was an awkward, shabby construction, crooked and tilting dangerously to one side, wrapped in its tangle of ladders, walkways and cables. Built out of scaffolding poles, covered with sheets of corrugated metal and plastic, the tower was almost as tall as the building on which it stood. Halfway up the tower was Flynn's tiny apartment… the home he shared with his father and luckily with nobody else. He placed his foot on the first ladder rung, hesitated for a moment then stepped down. It had been a long day… with at least ten difficult dives, all at a depth of two hundred feet… Starving and truly exhausted, Flynn wasn’t looking forward to any more stairs… “Hey Dino!” he shouted, then blow-whistled.

  A heavy-set man stepped out of a shack, nestled at the base of the tower. He was dressed in faded rags made from fish and seal skins. Chewing on a piece of dried rat’s thigh-bone, Dino glared at Flynn. “Wadyawant Perry boy?” the man roared, his voice as loud as thunder. “The water rations ain’t here yet!”

  “I need a ride up.”

  “Get lost!” Dino spat a piece of bone and disappeared b
ack inside his shack.

  “C'mon, man… I don't feel like climbing all the way up tonight!”

  Dino's head popped out. “I said get ...,” he began, but stopped and squinted. Like a pendulum, a can of soda was dangling on a piece of string, inches from his face. He scratched his hairy chest then dragged his feet towards Flynn. “Gimmy that!” Dino cried, grabbing for the can. His massive hand closed over empty air.

  Too late! Flynn had jumped a step back and stood grinning at the man. “First, you give me a ride in the elevator… Then I’ll give you this,” Flynn said and dangled the can again for Dino to see.

  Dino's eyes followed the swaying can, hypnotized by the sight of the rare drink. Grunting, he licked his lips. “Alright… Last time I'm doin’ it for you!”

  Flynn was now walking behind Dino toward the elevator. From the back, you could easily mistake Dino for a gorilla, thought Flynn with a smile… He and Tony had come across a book about a giant ape called King Kong, and they had spent hours looking at the pictures inside. But it wasn’t just the ape that had fascinated the two boys. It was the images of New York City, with its original skyline before it had all changed. Dino was like a miniature King Kong, living on the roof and terrorizing the residents who had to walk past him every day. His hunched back was massive and covered with tufts of hair, his muscular arms reaching just below his knees. Yet, Dino’s stout legs seemed wobbly, struggling to carry his huge frame. He was getting old, Flynn thought. They would retire him soon, and the man would be gone…

  Dino stopped by a rusty box frame that held an old truck wheel in its cradle. There was a crank sticking out of it. A cable coiled over the wheel, went up to the top of the tower, over another wheel, then down again, ending attached to a caged platform. More of a crude hoist than an elevator, really. “Hop in!” Dino barked and extended his open hand for the promised drink.

  “You owe me two rides for this,” said Flynn, handing over the can. He stepped inside the cage and held on to its bars.

  Dino shoved the can inside a small cubby hole, spat on his hands and grabbed the crank. The muscles on his arms bulged as he started working the winch. The platform jerked. The cage lifted off the ground and slowly started to rise, taking Flynn up, two feet at a time. He could hear a lot of grunting and swearing coming from below.

  “Gettin heavy, boy!” Dino shouted.

  “More like you're running out of steam!” Flynn yelled back.

  “Shut ya mouth!” Dino's voice was fading as the elevator rose more quickly now.

  Flynn took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The air was fresh up here, cooler and cleaner than anywhere else on the Archipelago… The ocean breeze gently ruffled his hair and, for the first time that day, Flynn allowed himself to relax a little. When he opened his eyes again, he turned to look at the other towers around him. With their meager lights flickering in the darkening sky, they resembled giant trees, planted on the rooftops and playing host to hundreds of fireflies.

  The elevator slowed down and finally stopped. Flynn stepped onto the walkway encircling the tower, peered down and whistled. The cage began its noisy descent. The floor shook and creaked under Flynn's feet as he headed toward the Perrys’ apartment. It was almost like the whole structure had come alive. It swayed and rattled with the wind, shuddered and groaned under the weight and movement of its inhabitants. But that didn't bother Flynn one little bit… To him walking on a plank, hundreds of feet high in the sky, seemed like the most natural thing in the world… He didn't know any different.

  Flynn rounded the corner and stopped before the window of his apartment. He could see two shadows through the dirty plastic sheet covering the square hole in the wall. One was definitely his father’s, but Flynn couldn’t make out who their visitor was. He put his ear against the thin wall and listened to the voices inside.

  “…I’m telling you Alan, this place is falling apart...” the visitor was saying, “These buildings won’t be standing tall for much longer. Trust me! Their foundations are crumbling… The water pressure… the corrosion…they’re doing their destructive work slowly, but surely! And then the supplies we all rely on …how much more do you think is left down there? We can’t scavenge the ocean bed forever, you know!”

  “So?” Now, Flynn heard his father speak. “Clearly, there’s nothing we can do about it, is there?”

  “Oh, but there is! And I’m not the only one who thinks that... There’re others, you know…”

  “Others?” Alan Perry’s voice had fallen to a loud whisper. “Surely not more foolish talk of an uprising! You know what happened last time… Mullins and the rest of them are all gone!”

  “Not that, Alan, not that!”

  “What then?”

  “I’m talking about… a way out of this place!”

  “Escape from the Archipelago? Where could you go?”

  “Dry Land!” said the man and then there was a long pause.

  “You're joking, right!” Flynn heard his father laugh hoarsely. “Where’s that? The Hudson Highlands… the Catskill Mountains… It’s just a bunch of contaminated lifeless rocks, you know that.”

  “Farther west, Alan…. Much farther,” the man replied. “Here, hold the end of that wire, we’re almost done.”

  “There's no vessel on the Archipelago that can go that far...wherever this Dry Land is!”

  “Ah, I won’t be so sure, Alan!”

  “And even if you get that far…what about the Flood Virus?”

  “There’s healthy land out there, I’m sure!”

  “It’s just a dream, Walter!” Alan Perry said, sounding annoyed. “We’re just wasting time talking about it! Better see to that stove here.”

  Both men went quiet for a while, busy with what they were doing. Flynn cleared his throat to let them know he was at the door and called out: “Hi, Dad! I’m back!” He then pulled the door flap aside and walked in.

  The Perrys’ apartment was nothing more than a small room, crammed full of stuff, and with shelves and racks taking up all of the space along its four walls. All the racks were cobbled together from pieces of pipe and wood. The shelves and the sturdy filing cabinet were remnants of the office furniture that had survived the pillaging of their building after the Flood. Every shelf was piled high with junk, collected over many years. There were rusty cans, tins and glass jars filled with bits and pieces, as well as an assortment of broken electrical goods. There was even a lifeless computer sitting proudly in one corner. “You never know! We may need it for something one day,” Flynn's dad liked to say, every time he brought home a pocketful of nails and screws or some object of no apparent value. Flynn had followed his example… he had kept all kinds of non-descript treasures from his dives, adding them to Alan Perry’s collection… and a lot of them had come in handy, one way or another. Of course, they weren’t the only ones hoarding stuff. The Lower Side was home to an extremely thrifty community, where every salvaged item could be used again to fix something broken… or to build something new. The main problem was that the Perry household was running out of storage and respectively, living space… But father and son kept their inventory growing, anyway.

  A recent addition to their home was the “dining table” that Alan Perry had built from his hoard of junk. He had used dilapidated wooden crates, thrown a piece of plaster board over them and covered it all with a surprisingly intact plastic sheet. Flynn had found a couple of chairs, with their backs and a couple of legs missing, but his father had fixed those in no time. By the window were Flynn's pride and joy… two rubber air-mattresses he had scavenged from a submerged warehouse. Next to the sleeping area was the kitchen counter where all the cooking was done. And finally, at the back of the room was the only luxury they could afford… their toilet. Most of the residents in their tower didn’t have the room for it, but the Perrys had enough space for a tiny curtained-off cubicle… This provided privacy for the household’s designated slop bucket.

  Flynn now saw that the second figure, standing
next to his father, was that of Mr. Walter Kowalski. He was a friend and a resident in their building. “For the Greater Good, gentlemen!” Flynn greeted the pair with exaggerated pathos and a cheeky grin on his face.

  “Don’t be disrespectful, son!” Alan Perry scowled then added quickly, “You know these walls have ears!”

  “Ah, the young Perry is back,” cried Mr. Kowalski, his face suddenly animated by a toothless smile. He was holding a piece of thick copper wire, coiled tight to form a flat disk. Mr. Kowalski belonged to a very small group of people who everyone called ancients. They were all well past the average retirement age of fifty-five. That was the cut-off point if you were healthy and made it that far along in life… If you were sick, crippled, or for any other reason unable to work and contribute to the community, you were retired much earlier. No one knew exactly how old Mr. Kowalski was… But everyone agreed he had to be at least seventy, if not older. The only reason he had not been put on the Departure List was because the man was a genius and therefore, irreplaceable... Everybody knew that Mr. Kowalski was the most brilliant of electricians and inventors that had ever lived on the Archipelago. He was kept around not only because he could fix anything electrical, but because he often performed miracles with the few tools and resources available on the city. The Government needed him, so that he could train a new generation of electricians, pass on the torch and teach them his tricks.

  The reason the Lower Side had working lights, stoves and energy was thanks to Mr. Kowalski. The man had reinvented and rewired the ruined electrical system after the Flood. He and a group of other ancients were behind the unimaginably difficult task of restoring whatever energy sources remained… fixing the existing roof solar panels and adding new, algae-based ones for support. And these technical wizards were behind the building and maintenance of the two Generators, one for the Upper Side and other for the Lower. The Archipelago owed him big time… and the Government knew that.