We Had Flags (Toxic World Book 3)

by Sean McLachlan

  “Don’t worry, it’s Zach.”

  Zach Parker was Jessica’s boyfriend. Nobody was supposed to know. Pablo didn’t like Zach because he was always going off with Jessica. Jessica was his special friend.

  “Hey Jess,” Zach called. “Hey kid.”

  That’s was another annoying thing about Zach. He was only fifteen but thought he was all grown up and could call Pablo a kid. Well, Pablo had been born in the wildlands and grown up in the Burbs. Zach was the son of a citizen and had it good. Pablo knew way, way more about the world than Zach did.

  “Hey babe,” Jessica said in that annoying way she always did when Zach was around. It made Pablo want to toss his cookies. Zach sauntered up to them. He was almost as tall as an adult and had wide shoulders. His arms were scrawny, though. Pablo bet he was stronger than Zach was.

  Jessica and Zach started smooching. Pablo looked away. Once the wet sticky sounds stopped Pablo said, “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

  Zach laughed. “That’s right, kid. History waits for no one!”

  Zach always said stuff he thought sounded smart. What did history have to do with it?

  They worked their way south, the hills getting bigger and more barren. Pablo caught a nasty whiff of chemicals.

  “Not smelling as bad as usual,” Zach said. He and Jessica walked hand in hand, with Pablo trailing behind.

  “You been here before?” Pablo said.

  “I’ve been everywhere, kid.”

  “Yeah, right,” Pablo mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  The smell got worse. Zach stopped and pulled out three squares of cloth from his pocket. Each had strings on the corners. Zach poured water from his canteen onto the squares and handed one to Pablo.

  “Here, tie this around your nose and mouth. You’ll need it.”

  They put on the masks and continued. The damp cloth made it a bit hard to breath but at least it didn’t stink so bad. The path was clear, with the well-worn ruts of the water cart that passed daily between the Burbs and the village on the shore of Toxic Bay. Mr. Andrews used to do that job before he became Mom’s deputy. Pablo wondered who did it now.

  The hills opened up to reveal a broad bay. Pablo’s eyes went wide despite the sting the air gave them. On the far side of a bay striped with strangely colored streams of fluid, a ruined city rose up a steep ridge. Gutted shells of buildings stood in regular rows. To the left was what had been the port. Steel cranes hung limp and rusted over warehouses that looked like the one in New City, except most were burnt or falling apart. A huge ship lay on its side half in the water, all rust and green mold.

  To his left stood an old factory next to a little river that fed into the bay and was the source of all that colored gunk that smelled so bad. Beyond the river lay some more ruins reaching all the way to the port.

  Just in front of them, at the base of a little slope, lay the near shore and a gross-looking swamp. A few shacks and huts stood near the water. It looked even worse than the worst part of the Burbs. There were some people there, adults and kids. They all wore nasty dirty rags and looked sick. One guy with red patches of rash all over his face and hands walked towards them carrying a rusty shotgun.

  Pablo wasn’t afraid of the shotgun or the sick man. He’d seen plenty of guns and dying people before, and this guy didn’t look dangerous, just suspicious. The smell was totally nasty, though, even through the mask Zach had given him.

  “State your business,” the man demanded.

  “We wanted to see the bay,” Zach said.

  “Very funny.”

  “We have the right to be here,” Jessica said. “We’re, um, thinking of setting up some trade.”

  The man gave her a stupid look. “We already got a water hauler.”

  “There might be other possibilities.”

  A few villagers emerged from the cluster of huts. An albino boy of about Pablo’s age was being led by a younger girl who was so dirty he could barely see her skin.

  “Who’s here, Oscar?” the boy asked. Pablo jumped when he noticed his eyes were as milky white as his skin.

  “Some kids from New City,” the man with the shotgun said.

  The little girl turned the boy in their direction. “I’m Bobby. This is Nora. She can’t talk.”

  Nora grunted at them and gave a toothless grin. Pablo’s stomach turned when he saw she didn’t have a tongue.

  “You’ve seen what you wanted to see,” Oscar said. “Now how about you go on back and brag to your friends about it. You ain’t the first New City brats to some joyriding through here.”

  “I’m scavenger born and bred,” Jessica said. “And we’re not leaving until we’ve seen the show.”

  Oscar peered at her curiously. Pablo’s eyes teared up as the wind shifted and brought a pungent stench off the bay.

  “I feel sick,” he whispered, sidling up to Jessica. “I want to go home.”

  “You don’t want to miss the surprise,” she replied.

  “When is it?”

  Jessica craned her neck and looked out to the entrance of the bay. “Oh, I think just about now.”

  Far out in the glittering water he spotted the dark silhouette of a canoe and a lone figure pumping away at the oar. The canoe was just entering the bay and skimmed through the water, the man working the oar like a piston. A single, long call came to them across the water. No words, just a sound that seemed to express fear, warning, amazement, and awe in one distant shout.

  The call came again. Still the man pumped at the oar. He called a third time, but they were no longer looking at him.

  From around the rocky edge of the bay came a bulge. Pablo blinked, not sure what he was seeing. It was covered in flaking blue paint, with a strip of red near the water and patches of what looked like rust all over it. The structure stretched out, gaining in length as it entered the bay. It had a curved front and a flat top with a white railing. As more of it was revealed, Pablo saw a white building on top of the center part.

  Pablo’s jaw dropped as he realized what it was. A freighter. He’d seen them before washed up on beaches.

  But this wasn’t a wreck. This one was moving.

  The figure in the canoe shouted again, and his voice was drowned out as the ship let out a long, deep blast from its horn.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “What the hell was that?” Yu-jin asked, sitting up in bed.

  Yu-jin and Randy were still in bed despite it being midmorning. She’d stumbled in two nights before, exhausted and glum, to find a warm hearth and a ready ear. Randy had held her as she poured out her grief over the loss of the last of her relatives. The first full day of her new life in the Burbs had been spent trading what she’d scavenged, catching up with old friends, and some much-needed lovemaking. She and Randy had fallen asleep in a warm tangle, only to be woken by the sound of a distant but powerful boom.

  Randy sat up and stared at the lone window on the wall of his shack. It was open, but placed too high and too small for anyone to get inside. It paid to be careful in the Burbs.

  “I don’t know, maybe something exploded over at the old chemical works?” he said.

  “Yeah, that must be it,” Yu-jin said.

  Whatever it was, it didn’t concern her. She was safe. As rough as the Burbs could be, they were a hell of a lot safer than the wildlands. She’d never go back. She snuggled up to Randy. This was a good start to her new life.

  Randy was still sitting up in bed. “You know, it didn’t sound like an explosion.”

  Yu-jin pulled him down. “Stop paying attention to that and pay attention to me.”

  Randy smiled and kissed her. Yu-jin wrapped her arms around him. He had been so sweet since she’d gotten back. He had comforted her and massaged her sore shoulders and listened to her about her family. Usually when she showed up in the winter they’d hop into bed within five minutes. He hadn’t even made a move all that first night, just held her and listened. The next morning she wok
e him up and rewarded him for his patience.

  Now he was rewarding her. Randy may not have been the strongest or most practical guy in the world, but those artist’s hands were good at more than just drawing portraits and making pots. He was showing her just how artistic he could get when there was a knock on the door.

  “Ignore it,” she whispered.

  The knock came again, more insistent.

  “Damn,” Randy grumbled as stumbled out of bed. Yu-jin pulled the blanket up to her neck. Randy got his pants on and opened the door a crack. A street kid stood outside, wearing only a filthy frock.

  “What is it?” Randy asked.

  “Is Song Yu-jin here?” the little girl asked, trying to look past Randy.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “The Moon family wants to welcome Ms. Song back to the Burbs and asks for the pleasure of her company for lunch today,” the girl recited while scratching the back of her leg with one bare toe. “They’ve moved to the big house with the tile roof just off the north side of the market.”

  “Tell them I’ll be there,” Yu-jin called out.

  Randy looked over his shoulder with annoyance. When he turned back to the street urchin, he faced an outstretched hand.

  “Didn’t the Moons give you trade?” he asked.

  The girl held her ground.

  “Oh, give her something, Randy.”

  “Hold on,” he grumbled, moving over to the small kitchen area at one corner. It was the only part of the shack that wasn’t filled with paper, drawing supplies, paints, and decorated pots.

  He returned to the door and gave the girl a handful of nuts.

  “Run along now.”

  The girl popped a nut in her mouth, cracked it open with her teeth, and sauntered away.

  “News travels fast,” Randy said as he got back into bed. “Koreans really keep an eye out for each other.”

  Yu-jin felt a little sting like she always did when someone called her Korean. She had never told Randy or anyone else about what she really was except for a couple of Chinese scavengers out in the wildlands and the “Moon” family. She wondered how many other supposed Koreans or Thais or Cambodians she met were secretly Chinese. Fear, hers and theirs, kept them from ever meeting.

  Mention of the Yaos/Moons had killed the mood. Yu-jin gave Randy another kiss and got out of bed.

  Randy looked hurt. “Off so soon?”

  “I have to get fixed up.”

  “Why? You asking for a job?”

  “No,” Yu-jin laughed as she started brushing her long hair in front of the shard of reflective glass hanging on the wall. “But Korean lunches are more formal.”

  “And last forever,” Randy grunted.

  That’s because they’re pressuring me to marry their son.

  “I’ll get back as soon as I can. It’s Saturday night. Does Joe’s Chicken Shack still do sesame chicken on Saturdays?”

  “Of course, it’s a Burb institution,” he replied as he came up behind her.

  Yu-jin smiled at Randy through the mirror. “Then I’ll treat you to dinner tonight and tomorrow I’ll join you at the kiln.”

  “Deal,” Randy said in a tone like they were making some formal trade in the marketplace. The effect was somewhat ruined as he reached around and fondled her breasts. She leaned back against him.

  It was good to be here. She had decent shelter, no danger she couldn’t handle, a good lover, and the warmest workspace she could hope to spend the winter. There wasn’t enough demand for pots to keep the kiln going all year round, so Randy only ran it in the winter, making all sorts of clay containers for the people of the Burbs and even New City. They’d been working together, and sleeping together, for four seasons. They took shifts turning the wheel with a pedal and a length of bicycle chain as their hands formed shapes out of the wet clay. She only did the simple vessels, the bowls and plates, while those wonderful hands of Randy’s made the clay come to life and could create anything he could imagine. Randy painted some to get better trade from those who cared about beauty as well as function.

  Randy finally stopped molesting her and she finished up her preparations as he puttered around his painting studio.

  “Oh, hey! Guess who got a girlfriend? Leon Hudson,” Randy said.

  “Really? It’s about time.”

  Randy pulled a sheet of paper off a table a held up a pencil portrait he’d almost finished. It showed the lifelike image of a smiling couple, the man bald and weather-beaten, the woman dark and younger looking.

  “He shaved his beard,” Yu-jin said. “I would have never recognized him.”

  “He shaved it off when he traded for a gas mask. Said the beard kept him from getting a good seal. You know how he’s always scavenging in the old city.”

  Yu-jin shook her head. “The good pickings aren’t worth the risk.”

  “You’re telling me. Oscar almost shot him last time.”

  “This is some of your best work yet,” Yu-jin said, looking at the picture with admiration. It was almost as lifelike as photographs from the Old Times. Randy was the only person she knew of who made a living being an artist. She’d heard that in the Old Times plenty of people did. She wondered if that was true or just some myth about the “good old days”.

  On the same table as the drawing lay a row of her arrows, freshly painted red by her own hand. She picked one up to check it was dry and then started putting them in her quiver.

  “Nikki’s started a new band,” Randy said, sitting at the table and adding a few lines to the drawing with a homemade pencil.

  “Oh yeah? Did she keep that drummer, what’s his name?”

  Randy made a face. “Trevor? No, he died.”

  “God rest his soul. Did he get killed by that cult?”

  “No, cancer last spring.”

  “He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five!”

  “No one knows when the Lord will call them, Yu-jin.”

  Don’t I know it.

  She went back to the mirror as Randy continued to draw.

  “We’ll have Leon Hudson and his girlfriend over for dinner now that you’re back.”

  “That will be fun. Well, better go,” Yu-jin said as she finished primping.

  “Already?”

  “The quicker I go, the quicker I get back,” she said, picking up the bag that contained the ancestral tablets.

  “I thought you were going to set those up here,” Randy said, looking hurt again.

  “There’s no room. Besides, the Moons have a room I can use. It’s better for them to be in a proper space.”

  “We can put an addition on, I’ll help build and paint it.”

  Yu-jin shook her head. She felt the old argument coming up. Randy wanted to get married, and having her ancestors here, he sensed, would be a step towards that.

  Randy was a good man, but there were things he’d want to know and couldn’t. He’d always encouraged her to bring her family down from the mountains in the winter and never understood why she didn’t. How could she honor her ancestors at the side of a man who she lied to about her heritage?

  At least she didn’t have to lie to the Yao family. After a short walk she found their new house and nodded with satisfaction to see they’d come up in the world. It was half again as big as their old one. The roof was covered in old tile. A good find. Most were hardly even chipped. It must have cost a hell of a lot of trade to get someone to haul those in from the wildlands.

  Yao Hanna stood at the doorway ready to greet her. She was in her fifties, with a few more streaks of gray in her bangs and a few more lines around her twinkling eyes than last year, but her smile was the same and that was all that mattered.

  “Welcome home, Yu-jin!” she said as they embraced.

  Home? Sort of.

  Hanna saw the heavy bag Yu-jin had rested against the door jamb and immediately guessed its meaning. She let out a wail that brought out the entire house. As Hanna embraced her, Da-bin came thumping down the front hall, his
simple face etched with worry. Once he saw it was her, he gave her a broad smile even though something was obviously wrong.

  I’m supposed to marry this guy?

  Yu-jin set that thought aside. It was disrespectful to her parents and to this wonderful woman who was crying real tears for people she had never met.

  Xinxin and Ming, Da-bin’s sisters, came next. Both were a little older than her, kind enough although a little overwhelmed by having a scavenger as a potential relative. When Hanna told her daughters the sad news they stroked Yu-jin’s hair and made sympathetic noises. Da-bin stood to one side, fidgeting and not knowing how to act.

  Yu-jin relaxed into their concern. The grief she’d been carrying all these weeks eased as she was surrounded by those who would share it with her. Poor Randy wasn’t enough. He loved her but didn’t understand, could never understand. Here she was home.

  Xinxin had a bit of a belly. Yu-jin placed a hand on it.

  “Life goes on, Yu-jin. A new generation,” she said. “Things will get better someday.”

  Da-bin shuffled over.

  “Um, I’m very sorry for your loss, Yu-jin.”

  “Thank you, Da-bin.” She smiled at him, which elicited an idiotic grin. Yu-jin resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

  The thump of a cane told her Yong-jun, the family patriarch, was approaching. He wasn’t much past fifty, but a lifetime of trying to wrest a harvest from polluted soil had all but broken him. Although his breath wheezed and his face was drawn and thin, his eyes were still bright and sharp. Yong-jun took in the scene immediately, rested a hand on Yu-jin’s head, and said, “I’ll prepare the room.”

  They retired to the back room where the Yao family kept their ancestral tablets. It was a large room lit with candles, the air fragrant from burning joss sticks. The walls had been painted red and gold. They set up her own tablets in a spare space to the side and said the proper prayers, burning incense and paying their respects. The familiar ritual relaxed her, made her feel more at peace with herself. Come Sunday she’d send up a prayer in the New World United Church where she and Randy went to services every Sunday morning.

  As she went through the ritual, she realized that putting her ancestral tablets here was, in effect, bringing her into the family. The Yaos must have known it too. Da-bin obviously hoped so, considering how little space he gave her as he prayed by her side. She tried to ignore him.