by Peter Liney
My eyes slowly blinked and batted their way open, instantly filling my mind with confusion: what the hell? Where was I?
The first penny to drop was that I really was off that Island, that I hadn’t dreamed it; the second was that I hadn’t woken at dawn as I’d promised myself; there’d already been a big bite taken out of the day.
I grabbed my watch, cursing when I saw it was nine-fifty, and sat up with a real jolt. Lena woke but didn’t say anything, just tried to pull me back down, to keep me with her a little longer.
“No,” I told her, “we gotta go!” I released myself from her grip and struggled to my feet, aware that I was painfully stiff from last night’s activities, that my old body was again complaining about being asked to do the work of a young one.
Stumbling through to the showroom, I found the others also still asleep.
“Let’s go!” I shouted, jolting Jimmy’s shoulder. “Kids, come on! We gotta get moving.”
I was about to go back and check Lena hadn’t returned to sleep when it occurred to me that there was something odd about the light—it was kind of dull and purplish. I went to the front of the store and took a look out.
At first I thought it was fog. I mean, they don’t get a lot on the Mainland, not like we did out on the Island, but it does happen. However, I soon realized it was something else: a thick gauze of smoke that I saw first, and then smelled, kind of hot and dark and strongly chemical.
I threw back the door and rushed out. One look was enough to see we had real trouble. There was a building burning further down the block, but it wasn’t just that, the possibility that the flames might spread to us; more this feeling that during the night we’d somehow got trapped.
I hurried back inside. “Come on,” I shouted, frustrated by everybody’s slow progress, particularly the kids, who didn’t even seem to have the energy to get themselves upright. “Let’s go!”
“I’m hungry,” little Arturo whined.
“Me too,” agreed Gordie.
“Later,” I told them. “Now, come on!”
As we emerged from the store, the nearby blaze exploded across the narrow street as if from a flame-thrower, instantly setting another building alight.
“Jesus, Big Guy!” Jimmy gasped. “Did you see that?”
I never commented, just took Lena’s hand, the two of us locking together now like it was second nature. A dozen or so paces on, I glanced back and found Jimmy still gaping at the fire. “Jimmy!” I shouted, and he turned and started to peg after us, soon catching up with the dawdling kids. Little Arturo was still complaining he wanted something to eat and Delilah had a consoling arm around his shoulder.
Lena kept sniffing the air, almost like she was taking in random samples for analysis. “I can smell it again,” she told me, “that odor I noticed on our way over from the Island.”
“It looks a bit like the Island,” I observed, gazing around, “’cept this is smoke.”
“How far can you see?”
“I dunno—maybe forty, fifty yards? It depends.”
Again she sniffed, shaking her head as if she didn’t quite understand. “What is it that’s burning?”
I looked at her for a moment, then back at the fire now disappearing into its own smoke. “Everything,” I told her, only in that moment realizing that was true, that there didn’t seem to be a thing in that City that wasn’t flammable.
She was about to say something more but fell silent when I stopped at a junction, looking this way and that, trying to work out which way we’d come the previous evening.
“That way,” she told me, and without questioning it for a moment, I set off in the direction she indicated.
When we got up to the main street and turned in the direction of the hills—though with the smoke, of course, you couldn’t see them—it felt like we’d joined an assault course. Everywhere you looked it was as if madness had been set free and told to do whatever it wanted. All manner of stuff had been discarded, Lord knows why. Maybe they saw something better, or just couldn’t carry as much as they’d thought. I noticed this irradia-fry, still in its box, covered in blood, more smeared handprints on the sidewalk nearby as if someone had been forced to crawl away on their hands and knees. Every possible window, every outdoor screen low enough to be reached, had been smashed. And fires, of course, still burning all over: some big, some small. To Jimmy’s continuing fascination, a couple actually exploded in front of us, swear to God, again shooting out streams of flame.
It reminded me of those images you see of the surface of the sun: everything just bubbling away one moment, erupting with rainbows of fire the next. The front walls of several buildings had given way, spilling out across the sidewalk, while the blackened hulks of automatic buses were skewed all along the street, leastways as far as you could see. But you know, despite all the destruction and chaos and the fact that it was probably gonna kick off again later, there were still those determined to carry on with their normal lives. Off to their places of work, the office or store, hell-bent on making it “business as usual.”
The worst thing was the bodies. I don’t know how many we saw—it didn’t occur to me to count—but it’s a sure sign that civilization’s breaking down when you see corpses in the street. When no one’s come to clear them away. I guess if the kids had come from anywhere but the Island we would’ve done everything we could to shield them from it. But they’ve seen stuff like that all their lives. I don’t think they gave it a second thought.
There were a few looters already out and busy, very different animals from those who’d rampaged through the previous night. Most of them looked to be old folk, though I didn’t notice any Islanders, which made me wonder how many got away from those Dragonflies. There was something almost apologetic about their behavior. They were skulking from one place to another, their heads held low, as if they really didn’t agree with what they were doing but had realized they had no other choice, that this was just the latest version of survival.
At one point Hanna stopped, peering into this quaint but rather run-down little store that like a lot of the less impressive-looking places hadn’t been touched. I went back to see what had caught her eye and was met by a slightly faded display of ballet clothes. More particularly a pair of shiny pink satin shoes.
To be honest, I’m not sure I would’ve said anything if she’d picked up the nearest brick, smashed the window and taken them. For sure I don’t know anyone who’d put them to better use. And amongst all that ruckus, everything that was going on, what would it have mattered? But she just had her fill of looking, turned, smiled at me and carried on.
The further out we went, into the old migrant suburbs—Chinese, Greek, Italian—the more we got into, well, not exactly home territory, but certainly more familiar. Eventually, despite the dense smoke and the years I’d been away, I began to recognize places: a couple of businesses I used to collect money from for Mr. Meltoni, a pool hall where I used to play as a kid.
It might sound odd, but in a way I was waiting to see what my reaction would be, how I’d take to my first real memory. But do you know something? No matter where we were, or what we saw, there was nothing. I really didn’t care I’d spent the majority of my life there, that it was my hometown. For sure it didn’t feel like it anymore. All I wanted was to get out into the open spaces, to see a whole horizon contributed to by no one but Nature, and until that happened, I wasn’t going to feel truly free.
By midafternoon the road began to ascend and we realized we’d reached the more affluent suburbs, that though we might not be able to see them, we’d started to climb the hills that half-cup the City.
I was reckoning on another three or four hours to get to the other side, but the higher we got, the more difficult the smoke became. It started to really sting our eyes and gouge the back of our throats, and poor old Delilah, with her one lung, was hacking away fit to burst.
“Clancy,” Lena warned.
“I know.”
�
�She can’t go much further.”
I turned to Jimmy and he gave me this look, like he didn’t want to say anything but couldn’t put it off much longer.
“As soon as we’re over the hills, you’ll be fine,” I reassured Delilah, feeling a little guilty. “The cleanest, purest air you’ll ever breathe.”
Jimmy ignored my attempt at lightening the mood. “I don’t think she can make it, Big Guy.”
“I’m all right—keep going,” Delilah told us, but she was coughing so much no one took any notice.
“You go on,” Jimmy said. “We’ll go back down. This smoke’s gotta clear sometime. We’ll follow you.”
“No!” Delilah protested.
I didn’t know what to do. If things got any worse, I wouldn’t bet on any of us getting through—yet it meant everything that we did.
“We should stick together,” Lena said. “Whatever we decide.”
I suggested finding some water, maybe wetting a handkerchief or something for Delilah to cover her nose; it might see her through. However, at that moment we saw this small group coming down the hill, emerging out of the smoke, coughing and spluttering, obviously in some distress.
I didn’t know whether to speak to them or not—who knows who you might be getting mixed up with? But as they got closer, I thought I recognized one of them from the Island.
“Hey!” I called over.
They slowed but didn’t stop, I guess every bit as suspicious of us as we were them.
“You’re Detainees, right?” I asked, a look of recognition coming to one guy’s face. “What’s it like up there?”
“There’s no way out,” he told us, breaking off from the group. “The City’s completely surrounded by fire.” He just stood there for a moment, then kind of nodded apologetically, as if embarrassed to be the bringer of such bad news, before hurrying after his companions as they began to disappear down the hill into the smoke.
For a few moments none of us could bring ourselves to say anything; the only sound was Delilah’s sporadic breathless hacking.
“Shit!” I groaned.
“At least that makes the decision for us,” Lena said, though there was real concern in her voice.
“Why don’t I take a look?” I suggested. “There’s gotta be some way out.”
“Clancy!” she said, a little irritated by my stubbornness.
Again there was silence. I mean, she was right, of course she was. The only trouble was, we had no Plan B. Nor C or D, come to that.
“This is worse than the Island,” Hanna suddenly ventured, as if she felt it was about time she gave her verdict.
I almost burst into laughter. That kid rarely says a word, but when she does, she has a habit of hitting matters right on the head.
“Just swapped fog for smoke,” Delilah complained, again starting to cough.
“And we’re prisoners again,” Gordie added.
“Hey, hey—come on,” I said, not wanting to hear all this negative talk. “How long can fires burn?”
“These fires?” Jimmy answered. “Who knows?”
“Nah! Bit of rain, change in wind direction, they’ll be gone. And so will we.”
Nobody replied, and I knew why. It might not be that far away, but the weather on the Mainland’s completely different from the Island. Over there you can get four seasons in a day; here, with the surrounding hills, high pressure, things can get really locked in. This time of year, we might not see a change for weeks, maybe longer.
“I’m hungry!” Arturo complained again, the way kids do, as if all this life-or-death stuff is of no consequence compared with the demands of their bellies.
I paused, my eyes resting on him, my thoughts elsewhere, until it occurred to me that probably it wasn’t such a bad idea, that things might look better if we got a little food in us.
I ain’t got an ounce of pride, not anymore, not after living on the Island knowing the sorts of things we had to do to survive, some of the stuff we had to eat. Thing is, if you’re not too fussy, you’d be surprised what people throw away. We know that better than anyone.
I’d noticed this little restaurant on the way up: Il Pomodoro Rosso, recently painted but now looking a little smoke-stained, the big Italian flag needing a wash. The windows had been boarded up—I guess as protection against looters, though I couldn’t imagine it would be much of a deterrent to those we saw rampaging through the City the previous night. We retraced our footsteps, headed up the side alley, found the trashcans and started to pick our way through them.
Okay, so hunger is the best sauce, but I still gotta say a lot of what we dug out was a helluvan improvement over what we ate on the Island. The only thing was, we’d assumed the place was empty, but while we were busily chomping away, the back door suddenly burst open and this guy came out pointing a fancy-looking hunting rifle at us.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
I put my hands up, more in a gesture of apology than anything. “Sorry. We were really hungry. We got kids with us. We thought . . . you know, it’s just garbage.”
He stared at us as if we were some kind of new lowlife he hadn’t come across before and didn’t have a name for. Bearing in mind the way we looked, I guess that was understandable.
“Get the hell out of here,” he said, choosing to level his weapon at me.
I wasn’t going to argue, especially now there were no satellites up there to stop him. I apologized again and led the others up the alleyway, the guy still squinting down the sight of his rifle, his trigger finger looking like it might twitch at any moment.
“Friendly,” Delilah commented, once we got back up to the street.
“Very.”
We walked on in silence, the full impact of our situation weighing heavier by the moment. What the hell were we going to do? How were we going to survive? This place was worse than the Island—maybe a whole lot worse. And, of course, the irony was, we were partly to blame. It was us who took out the satellites, who started the fires (or some of them) that caused all this smoke.
“Clancy?” Lena said, interrupting my thoughts. “We gotta find somewhere safe for the night.”
I grunted my agreement. Without satellites, there was no reason why those looting and burning should confine their activities mostly to the night, but for some reason, you knew they would. That as if responding to some primeval call, they’d keep the very worst of their excesses for darkness. The hardcore, those we’d do best to avoid.
A lot of properties looked beaten up and deserted, but when you got closer, peered in the window or something, there were people inside. Those who’d already been the subject of intruders and were pretty hostile toward any more. We got chased by this armed gang, who might’ve made a real mess of us if they hadn’t been distracted by an intact sports store with a window full of sneakers.
Night was rapidly starting to fall, pressing down on the smoke, compounding its darkness. In the far distance, deep in a remote fold, you could hear the sound of something starting up you’d rather not know about. None of us had spoken for a while and there was this sense that hope was dying with the remains of the day when Jimmy spotted this ruined church set back from the street.
All of us stopped and peered through the railings, even Lena, though she was sniffing rather than looking. It didn’t appear that inviting—just a few walls, as crumpled as Christianity, in the middle of an overgrown churchyard; the odd gravestone poking out of the surging undergrowth like debris through floodwater. But at least it had the advantage of being isolated from other buildings, so that there’d be no chance of a fire spreading to it.
“Stay here,” I said, thinking I’d check it out, but Lena had other ideas.
“Isn’t it dark?” she asked.
“Getting there,” I admitted.
“Then you need me.”
I thought about refusing, saying I preferred to go alone, but it was obvious how important it was to her. “Yeah. Sure.”
Slowly we began to pick
our way through the tangle and whip of the undergrowth, expecting an angry shout at any moment, ready to turn and run. There was a path worn through there where someone had been in and out many times. However, Lena stopped, sniffed the air several times and finally gave it the nod.
“It’s okay.”
I trusted her senses. I breathed a sigh of relief and made my way into the building.
Actually it wasn’t much more than flagstones and mud, with walls on two sides, a little bit of roof, but most of it open to the elements. I was right; at some point quite recently it’d been someone’s home. There was garbage everywhere, and the remains of a fire, and they’d used one corner as a latrine.
I sighed as if to indicate that maybe we should keep looking, but Lena put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said. “If it was nice, everyone would want it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
I went outside, headed back toward the street and waved the others in. The moment they entered, Delilah and the kids started complaining about the smell.
“I’m sorry,” I told them. “The palace was fully booked.”
“Well, I’m not sleeping anywhere near that,” Delilah croaked, gesturing at the corner.
“Me neither!” Arturo chimed in.
“What about down below?” Lena suggested.
There was a slight pause, no one really understanding. “What d’you mean?” I asked.
“The cellar or crypt or whatever it is.”
It always amazes me what she smells, senses or hears. Really, it’s like she’s some superior being. And sure enough, on closer inspection, in a corner, barely discernible in the dark—plus someone had made a bit of a half-hearted attempt to disguise it with a couple of broken gravestones—we found a flight of steps.
I squatted on my haunches, peering down, but all I could see was black.
“No!” Delilah croaked, backing away. “No, thank you!”
Without saying a word, Lena pushed past us and began to feel her way down.
“Hey!” I protested, but she was already disappearing from sight.
We just stood there, helplessly waiting, yet again reminding ourselves that for her to stumble around in the dark was nothing unusual, that that was all she ever did.