“We both should have known they were there. Truth is we probably would not have been stopped. All you’d have needed to do was smile and they’d know you—then we could have moved along.”
“Maybe, but things are tense now.”
“Let’s stay here until dusk, then we can slip back north—I’ll get you back to the restaurant, and you can get a surrey from there.”
“Yes, or I can get Chrislann to pick me up.”
“The phones still work up there?” Pym was a little surprised.
“Yes—at least in the restaurants.”
“What’s that smell?” Titus asked.
“Oh, that’s the sea and the agri-zone. Odd, isn’t it?”
“Combination of salt and shit.”
“Literally. I’m told they use human waste as fertilizer. More animal now that we’ve taken on horses, cattle, and oxen, but still a great deal of human.”
“Gives Salazar something to do with much of the waste the new economy has been producing.”
“Some, but much of the waste is produced in areas it is not safe to collect it from. For the moment, they are focusing on Makati and the surrounding districts and the agri-zone. Since you took the southern fish markets, they have put all of their resources into protecting these areas and their food resources.” Pym would not have minded getting his hands on both the agri-zone and the cattle and oxen. Seafood got the job done, but he continued to lust after red meat.
Still, Pym was not about to risk his new found stability in order to feed a craving. As they waited, the couple found the bedroom still had a stripped down queen and used this to good effect. It was an interesting encounter since both were angry with the other and neither, as far as Pym could tell, trusted the other. After the third time, anger, it seemed to Pym, had its value. The sun was beginning to grab the western horizon, and they headed north again. Even now, many of the columns did not patrol the outer districts unless they moved in force. The time between dusk and evening is when they re-equipped and ate before coming out in heavily armed columns for the evening patrols.
Because of this, Pym could get Glenna back up to the restaurant and find her a surrey that would take her as far as the South gate. The parting was visibly warm, but beneath this was a calculating coolness on the part of both. He tried to find a point of rapprochement, but there was something about her acceptance of this that suggested she was less interested in it than in finding some way, some time to feed the man to her rage. Still, they needed each other, and that was more important, he hoped, than getting her own back.
He hoped.
Days folded into weeks and nothing happened. Nothing happened relative to the Wall. Beyond this, a great deal was happening. The Sweats had broken out of the districts south of the New Industrial Zone—southwest of Makati and directly east of the former Federal buildings—the capital and the president’s official residence. For the most part, the president did not live there—the city, officially the capital, had never been a healthy place. Historically it had been malaria that had been the greatest killer, but the capital, the oldest city in the country, had been the seat of more epidemics than it had been of political power. Because of this, when the Diet was not sitting, the president, Cabinet, and Assembly would disperse to their hereditary seats.
The unhealthy nature of the city had rendered it politically unstable, as well as unhealthy. This was proving to be the case with the new eruption of the Sweats. Since Pym had been in the city, it had only broken out of quarantined districts once or twice, and both of these times the eruption had burnt itself out quickly. The newest breakout was said to be different—even Lander had been made cautious by the news. There had been rumors of the sweep north for days before this, but these had been little more than the regular whispers of breakouts which had been daily fare since he’d escaped the Beluga Fay. Now mass migrations accompanied the first confirmed, and occasionally rumored, cases.
These were becoming difficult for the Governor’s combined forces to control. They were so bad that gunships had been brought close in to shore near the Marina where they then targeted the problematic district. Occasionally the devastation was total. This had been the case twice over the last couple of days. No one believed, at least according to Glenna—and this from her father and brother—that the populace had been quelled, but they had been beaten back into a sullen silence. It was during this lull that Titus had found the opportunity to check the dead drop he’d set up with the Wall guards southwest of the North gate. Though he still had a functioning cell, this was becoming more and more unreliable as the rolling blackouts continued to increase in length and ceased to follow the pattern set out by the power company.
More and more the city was giving way to idiosyncratic waves of complexity. As a result, Titus had set up a dead drop with Captain Tomás so the Wall could decide when the best time and place to act was. There had been consistent talk of the East gate, but occasionally this became the North gate and at others the Northwest Industrial Zone gate. As a result, Titus remained uncertain of not only their exit but also about what the intentions of the Colonel were concerning the gate. In his darker moments, Pym was convinced the Colonel was either attempting to create confusion for him and Glenna, or he was struggling with which section of the Wall could best be trusted with allowing the prisoners out and for what price.
With time, the Wall appeared to be staggering toward indecision and a lack of political will. Titus remained unclear about what was going on outside the Wall in the country, but if the situation in the city were anything to go by, the Federal government appeared on the verge of collapse, or was dealing with a bout of schizophrenia. Whatever the particulars, it was evident Salazar and Colonel Torres were no longer receiving the support they had been when Titus had first appeared in the city. Perhaps the escape of the Sweats into the broader city had something to do with this—perhaps it was coincidence. There were too many possibilities for Pym to believe anything any longer.
It was with this worry that he had managed to slip away, briefly, from a panicking Fay and a nearly catatonic Lander—who’d barricaded himself and his allies into the top floor of a small, abandoned apartment building close to the western Wall. What he found was what he’d been hoping for, for months now. With that news, he managed to get a message to Glenna through a contact in the restaurant they had last had lunch at. The two had not spent any time together since the last breakout. The bombardment of cross-narratives had not helped either. All he knew of her and her followers was what he’d learned from their brief messages. More and more the staccato impressions left him rattled.
This should break the stalemate—he hoped as much. After checking in with his contact later that day, Titus made arrangements that she and her people should all meet up at the Timog apartment. It would be a tight fit, but the chaos in the city should keep interest in a few wayward elites to a minimum.
“But...” Catherine Bautista complained.
“You heard,” Glenna broke in, “only what you can carry in a mid-sized rucksack.”
“When we get out there,” Chrislann attempted to soothe authoritatively, “it may be some time before we can make contact.” He had something on the go—he always had something on the go. On saying the last, he abruptly shut up. The others looked uncomfortable once he had spoken. It wasn’t as if this had come as some great surprise to Titus—he knew they’d only be on friendly terms until he’d gotten them out the gate, then they were all on their own. Pym doubted whether they could count on what Chrislann, or any of the others, had planned, but they seemed to have found some level of solace in this.
Catherine, taking Pym in from the corner of an eye, set the bag on the floor and took her rucksack, which Pym had brought—one for each member of the group—and began the difficult process of determining what she could and could not live without. Unsurprisingly, cosmetics were the first into the backpack. Sighing, Glenna squatted beside her and began to unpack this and repack it as Pym had instructed
her. Though uncertain why he had bothered to help them with this because of what he expected on the other side of the gate, Titus continued by helping the men do the same thing.
All of them had packed as though they were going on a two-week vacation to a resort of questionable competence and not on a life-and-death struggle through the ruins of their civilization. No one, not even Glenna, wanted to admit to the last. Bad she could accept, but there was an apocalyptic level to the rumors even her mind rebelled at.
“Remember,” holding up the pouch of diamonds Glenna had turned over to him as a final payment to the Colonel, “gems are lightest and the most negotiable currency you will have out there. Salazar’s chits will be worthless, and paper currency as well. Distribute the stones throughout your person so if you are robbed, they will not get all of them.”
“But,” SaRah asked, “where can we put them all that they won’t find them?” The question was directed at Titus, but Glenna answered.
“Up your backside.”
“How about our...” Adelin began, but was interrupted by Catherine.
“If you are raped, they’ll find them—our men won’t go near our asses.”
Titus looked to Glenna and she nodded.
“Taboo.” Is all she answered.
“When do we leave?” Rodrigo asked.
“When finish repacking—we’re heading for the East gate.” Pym answered. “Take the cars you came in by different routes—keep your distance from the Hill, but don’t go south—there’s still a lot of chaos down there after the shelling.”
Panic was creeping over the faces, but this was not more than Titus or Glenna had expected from any of them. Even Chrislann was looking greener than he wanted others to see. Still, there was no going back, and all understood this. If the breakout of the Sweats had not convinced them, then the shelling had.
Finished with the last bag, Pym stood up and steadied himself on a reading chair as a brief burst of vertigo took him. This passed almost immediately, and he was again ordering the cabal down to the cars. He needed more sleep, and this had been in short supply since things had gone sideways down south.
Glenna and Titus took his vehicle, and the cabal chose to carpool in two others. They had decided on that because none of the vehicles had been topped up—even in Makati fuel was hard to come by. It did not seem to matter that many were the sons and daughters of Cabinet members. Pym was certain this was as well, since the more cars running through a city reduced to horse and oxen, as locomotive power, would seem strange.
With five tucked into each car, it was a squeeze, but they managed. Though a bit of a hop from Timog to Taguig—a good two-thirds of the distance across town—it was not more than an hour’s drive if they didn’t run into any patrols, but this was why they were heading along the northerly route. This was to take them south and east of the Hill then north around the top of Makati and down the eastern frontier of this and into Taguig. Titus and Glenna had agreed to a coffee shop a few blocks back from the abandoned shopping district facing the eastern gate of the Wall as a rendezvous point.
All were leery of the Hill and the Dead District surrounding this, especially since they were moving into late afternoon; this was the time that the Hill began hopping about. At the same time, all three cars had to worry about police, militia, military, and the Cartel stumbling over them. As a result, they stuck to the side streets while attempting to disperse as much as possible in order that they were not seen together. Three cars would stick out far more than one. The streets themselves were not much help—more and more of these were being clogged by abandoned vehicles, rubble, refuse, and animal waste. Much of the latter had been left to dry and crumble to dust.
The health officials had commented on the serious health issues caused by the dust, but the sudden outbreak of the Sweats had put concern for this on hold. It was the difference, Pym supposed, between acute and chronic health risks. He was no longer concerned about it—in the recent past he had had discussions about this with the Fay. They, through Bannly and Synon, had gone so far as to order the collection of the solid waste in and about the Fay districts. Though Lander had considered this a waste of time, he did not interfere with the business because it neither hurt nor helped his attempts to draw power from the Pym clique. How much of this rumor Titus believed was unclear to him—Lander stayed out of his way, and that was enough.
Then they converged, almost at once, on the main road north of Makati. The good news was they were all intact with no indications of a run-in with either the Hill or the government patrols. If there was any bad news for Titus, it was that they were all whole. He had hoped that maybe one of the cars would have been taken or destroyed. This meant he was going to have to hope they were not very effective with whatever they planned for him at or on the other side of the gate. There was no way to be certain that they would try anything, but it would make sense after the way he had had to treat them. Almost certainly, if this were to occur, Glenna and Chrislann would be behind it.
Chrislann would be the emotive engine, but Glenna would be the plan.
The other problem they had to deal with immediately was having them all driving along the thoroughfare one behind the other. All it would take is one patrol or one observer to get them nicked. Waving the others off, he turned down a street which brought Pym, Glenna, and Chrislann up against the northern wall of Makati. The Budimans stared balefully at the Wall—or so Titus thought; watching them a little harder, it appeared there was almost a wistful longing in the gaze. “You can still change your minds.”
“No,” Glenna turned from the Wall and squeezed his arm, “there’s nothing left for us there.”
“I wish we could have brought papa.” Titus looked in the rearview and into Chrislann’s eyes. These were looking back into Pym’s, and there seemed a genuine remorse there.
“Father would have given us to the Governor if he knew what we were up to.”
“Yes, but now he is screwed.”
“Perhaps—but that would mean the entire Cabinet as well.”
Chrislann nodded, but he did not seem moved by the observation.
Titus, privately, agreed with the sentiment. Salazar would more than likely purge his entire Cabinet and would turn the families of Budiman’s Cabal into martyrs. There was little point in mentioning this. He supposed most would have recognized the fact. Some, such as Thea or Jeline, might not have been able to accept the truth of it, but the others knew what they had condemned their families and, perhaps, their friends to. Much would depend on the level of the Governor’s fear and paranoia—also on how much blood the Federals would require of him. The last would depend on how much control of the country the Federals still had.
Pym was of the opinion they hadn’t much, but would Salazar be able to accept this now that he was locked up in the city which required government support for its very life.
Then the wall was lost behind them. Glenna and Chrislann watched it go as they emerged into the lower middle-class districts to the East, then the shoddy, mostly abandoned working class districts. Finally they were in Taguig, and he slowed. There’d be no patrols out here.
“Next left,” Glenna said with a map on her lap. Once again the woman was all business. Titus admired how she could put her pain in a box and then kick it into a dark and empty place in her mind. He did the same thing with his own pain, but was always amazed to see others use the strategy, and still more in wonder of the fact that a woman could.
Most of the women in his past, and many of those here, had proven incapable of this. If they ever managed to do it, it usually came back to bite them on the ass, and the fallout would trail them about as a miasma of guilt. Titus wasn’t certain this would not be the case with Glenna in time—right now, however, she was concerned with survival and keeping her brother as alive as possible. Whether or not he was alive after the beating Tomás had thrown on him remained an open question, but since Chrislann had not been around much since the beating, he assumed there had
been significant damage done. What the consequences of that were and would be remained unclear.
“Right up here,” pointing with a manicured finger, “and then straight for two blocks.”
Pym knew where they were going—everyone knew—but there was something about Glenna that needed control of these last moments in the city. Titus supposed she expected the plan to fall apart if she did not take personal charge. He was okay with that—it left him free to wonder where this was all leading. Pym expected one or more of them to take a run at him, but was there any real reason to believe this? Certainly he was being used by Glenna and her friends, and there had been disagreements with the woman and her brother. Did this mean they would try to kill him?
Of course it was a possibility, but then it was also possible the Sweats would burn itself out with this latest eruption or that Lander and Synon could end up married. Neither seemed remotely feasible, but he hadn’t a lot of data on which to base the determination. Deciding the probabilities of which way Glenna would jump, or allow herself to be pushed by her brother, was beyond his ability to calculate. This meant he had to be prepared for anything on the other side of the gate.
Pulling up to the closed and abandoned coffee shop, he killed the engine. The others were already there, which meant they had to have sped all the way. Perhaps if Titus had been them, he would have been as eager to get out of town. The group was locked in now—no going home if this didn’t work out, now that the Wall guards would know their names and faces. Pym assumed they and their families were well enough known that they would be recognizable to Torres and Tomás once they were seen. If they turned back now, they might be able to slip back into the ruin of their lives—that of their families too—but that wasn’t going to happen. As Pym stepped out of the car in the gathering dusk, he could see they were committed, and terrified by this.
“What...” but the sentence burst into a confetti of light and his tongue lost all feeling. Spinning about Titus was staring up at the western horizon, and the top of the sun, all fiery orange, was shimmering against the rooftops of the low-slung apartment buildings and office blocks. Something connected with his abdomen and he buckled. There was a woofing sound of air—that would be him—and behind him there was a cacophony of voices. Feet were milling about. Mostly they were sandaled—not good for a long hike on rough roads, but when did these people ever listen to him? He was, of this Pym was abstractly aware, being kicked once or twice more, then it stopped as the feet drew closer and there were the sounds of disagreement.
Beluga Fay (Dragon Bone Hill) Page 20