“No, but I can be here for you. I can understand.” She moved closer again but didn’t reach out to touch him this time. She knew he was struggling. “I can be your friend.” She looked up at him, her eyes brimming now, and whispered, “More than your friend.”
He saw his future in her eyes and was overwhelmed with gratitude. Could they make it through together? Have a life together, with this between them?”
She read him and nodded her head, silent tears spilling down her cheeks now. Tears for him. Love for him. How did he, a Wisla, deserve this woman?
She blinked, taken aback by his self-doubt.
Nelson stood. “Okay. I think I’ve got it. We go across the old Patullo. Thank God, they never tore the old beast down. Gather round and I’ll show you.”
They crowded around, all except Wren, who turned away, wiping her eyes.
Coru wanted to comfort her, but this would bring the attention she was trying to avoid, make her peripheral. He growled at Nelson instead, “Only if we can’t secure a boat.”
Nelson waved the comment away impatiently. “Goes without saying. This is our plan B, for sure.”
Coru was abruptly filled with rage, rage he didn’t know what to do with. He’d had enough of waiting, enough of hiding. He wanted to get out, run, scream, smash, destroy, crush, sweep away. He wrapped up the map and barked, “It’s dark enough. We go now.”
13
MIKE: YEAR FOUR: WEN 2039
CHERRY CUDDLED CLOSER to Mike on the couch and sighed. They were watching the latest protest against the DRA in Seattle, this one enacted in downtown Vancouver. Only blocks away from their building.
Mike murmured against Cherry’s glossy hair, which seemed all the more thick and lustrous with her pregnancy, “DRA—Direct Refuse Acceptance—there’s a laugh for you. It’s direct all right–straight out into space. It’s refuse, so yeah, it’s a pile of garbage that no one wants to deal with, but acceptance? There’s no acceptance in these people’s minds. They’re as mad as hell. Maybe we should ship the garbage to their neighborhood and see how warm and fuzzy they feel then?”
Cherry smothered a yawn. “Zhang’s methods are the problem here. He shoves this stuff down people’s throats. He could use a good PR firm. Make the people love the fact all our garbage is headed out into space instead of cluttering up our world.” She twisted around to look up at Mike. “It’s like the gloves are off or something. He’s not even trying to make this palatable. ‘Like it or lump it—it’s happening’ seems to be his new motto. Don’t you think?”
Mike cupped her face and smiled at her. “This is something you don’t have to worry about, sweetheart. Think about our son. Only two more weeks and we meet little Tigg in person. That’s what’s important here.” He turned his head and said, “Screen off,” then with a contented sigh drew his wife further into his arms, accommodating her little rounded belly.
Life was so different now, so good, scary good, better than he’d ever hoped.
When Cherry had learned she was pregnant, she’d swept through the kitchen, emptied the cupboards of junk food, tossed out her secret stash of chocolate and embraced a healthy lifestyle— dragging him along with her. She lost her guilt weight and glowed as an expecting mother. Here in his arms was the woman he loved with his every breath. He was so grateful to have found her.
Of course, the pregnancy had been a surprise, and he’d spent almost a week crawling around inside his head, trying to reconcile starting a family with Cherry while plotting to stuff the sly and slippery Moses Zhang up that hungry Time Bore.
In the end, he decided he would honor his commitment of a year with Zhang, allowing the man to relax, and see Mike’s plan was the better one. This way he was here for Cherry one hundred percent, enjoying watching his son grow inside his wife’s cute little bump. Only he knew he had no intention of returning with Zhang. Mike’s place was here, with Cherry and their son, Tigg, and the life they were building here in 2039. He couldn’t believe that four years had passed already. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift. Lazy Sunday afternoons were becoming his favorite moments.
His time with Zhang was surrounded by devastation, literally. The man had big screens on all the walls of their shared office, and those screens ran video around the clock, and not nice videos. A favorite of Moses’s, or so it seemed, it ran so often, was that of slaughtered endangered animals in Africa, the stupid hunters standing over their kill with a satisfied grin on their clueless faces, holding a severed tail or something equally disturbing. There were the looped videos of injured or dead sharks with their dorsal fins sliced off to make “gourmet” shark fin soup. The turtle slaughter, also for soup. Why such interest in soup?
The rainforests burning, to make way for more grazing land for cattle. The travesty of rampant clear-cutting of forests everywhere. The melting Antarctic shelf, flooding cold fresh water into the Atlantic Gulf Stream slowing its natural cycle to almost zero, the gulf heating up more every year, killing off marine life at shocking rates. Black smoke pumping from coal burning factories. Yeah, they weren’t here in North America anymore, but everyone knew they existed, and continued to pump poisons into the atmosphere, safely out of sight and therefore out of mind. Videos of flash floods, the dead in piles or tossed aside like dolls. Overheads of flooded coastal cities and towns, underwater, all due to the “fake news” of global warming.
What more proof do you need? Documentaries depicting the results of indiscriminate spraying of pesticides, no bees, no crops, and soon, no topsoil in which to grow the crops which would not be growing there ever again, the land forever ruined. The film’s messages crawled into Mike’s brain and made themselves a permanent home there. He couldn’t erase them if he tried.
Okay, I get it, Moses, the world is screwed. I’m working as hard as I can to change it, just give it a rest.
It was brutally depressing, was what it was.
Zhang loved it of course; he thrived on it. It drove him.
Jessica appeared before Mike, clearing away their brunch dishes with a shy smile, glancing significantly at Cherry and back. He nodded. Jessie was looking forward to Tigg’s arrival as much as they were, in fact, she’d moved into the condo permanently in anticipation of the event. Mike didn’t mind—Jessica was actually a nice woman and once he’d ditched his resentment of her, he found she had all sorts of useful skills, plus a good sense of humor.
Jessie whispered, “I’m off to church now. I’ll be back by four.”
Mike nodded again. Another reason Sundays were great—they had the whole place to themselves in the afternoons. Maybe he’d pop some popcorn and they’d watch an old movie when Cherry woke up.
Since Cherry had become pregnant, there had been laughter in their home where before there had been unhappy silences. Now when he came home from working in Zhang’s depressing “Operations Hub”, as Moses liked to call it, there was music, good smells coming from the kitchen, cozy colorful blankets Jessica had knitted draped around the place, ready to snuggle into with his very happy wife every evening.
What a difference a baby made.
Cherry and Jessie were forever putting their heads together, coming up with some new scheme. When they had created the nursery together, they’d acted more like best girlfriends than mistress and employee. As he fell into sleep, it occurred to Mike that perhaps that’s what they were now—best friends, like me and Con…
A low moan woke Mike.
It was Cherry and she was chalk white and held herself stiff in his arms.
“What’s up, Babe?” he croaked, rising on one elbow, blinking his eyes, his brain, awake.
She expelled a gasp, held her breath, then gasped again, her dark eyes panicky. “Something’s wrong. Very wrong.”
He sat up straight, excited. “Is it the baby?”
“I—I think my water broke. I’m wet.”
He grinned. “The baby’s coming early. That’s okay, right?”
Her expression sucked the joy from him. Cherry k
new this stuff way more than he did.
Uncertainly he pressed on, “The due dates only a guess, right? The doctor said…”
She shifted awkwardly and withdrew her hand from under the blanket they shared. “Oh my God, Mike!” She burst into frightened tears. Her hand was covered in bright red blood.
“What!? What’s happening?” He jumped to his feet, pulling the blanket with him, shocked to see a huge red stain on the white couch cushion under Cherry. The sheer volume of blood sent lightning bolts of fear through him. A woman could sleep through this carnage? Even he knew this was a catastrophe.
Mike yelled, “Jessie!”
“I’m losing Tigg! I can’t lose Tigg. Please God, don’t let me lose our baby!”
No answer from Jessie; Jessie was at church.
He jammed shaking fingers on their doctor’s icon on his wrist device. The answering service picked up at once. “This is Mike Eggers. My wife is pregnant and she’s bleeding! A lot.” He saw his tone was frightening Cherry even more. He lowered his voice and turned away. “Bright red blood.”
The woman on the other end told him she was ordering an ambulance at once and that he should stay on the line with her until the ambulance got there.
“What can I do?”
“Raise her legs up to conserve blood and blood pressure. Remain calm and keep your wife calm... What?” The woman clicked off.
“Hey! Hey!” Mike protested, then cut himself off. Get it together, man. Keep Cherry calm. He forced a smile. “They say you should lie down and have your feet up until they arrive.”
Cherry just moaned and lay on her side on the wet couch, shaking, her eyes large and staring.
Mike turned her gently onto her back, grabbed some cushions and placed them under her legs. He saw more blood gush from between her legs and wanted to scream. Please, God. Please God, Please God! He wrapped the blanket around her, feeling instant relief when the blood was hidden. Then he felt cowardly. He couldn’t see it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Cherry’s eyes were closed, and she was softly moaning some sort of prayer, clutching her belly.
Mike’s device vibrated on his wrist. “Yes. Yes. I hear you,” he blurted, relief washing through him.
“You have to get your wife to the hospital as soon as possible. The doctor is already there, waiting. But there are no ambulances to send. There are multiple injuries at a street protest in the city. All available units are on scene. You have to get your wife in yourself, as quickly as you can.”
Mike opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. He had no time.
He snapped off the connection, gathered the blanket and his limp wife into his arms and ran from their condo to the elevator. Blessedly, Jessie had sent the car back up to their floor when she’d left for church and the doors opened at once. He worked his hand out from the blankets and pressed Garage, leaving the button smeared with blood. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured, his heart hammering in his throat. “I promise.”
Cherry didn’t answer him. Cherry was unconscious.
Reaching the garage, he laid Cherry across the back seat, pulled the seatbelts across her body then scrambled into the driver’s seat. “Start!” He backed from the parking slot with a squeal of tires and guided the car from the dark underground car park out into the bright sunlight, which momentarily blinded him. Squinting, he checked for traffic. No traffic at all. None. What was going on?
It didn’t matter—he’d take it. Overriding the computer guiding system, he peeled out of the parking garage, the wheels of the car catching air before he landed with a rocking thud onto the street, pulled another squealing turn, and floored the accelerator, throwing his body back against his seat as they sped up the curiously empty street toward the hospital. This was good, this was very good—better than waiting for an ambulance. He adjusted the rear-view mirror so he could watch Cherry. She was still out, her sweet face so pale it frightened him. She looked like death. If he could go any faster, he would. He would fly this vehicle into that hospital…
Rounding a corner, he stood on his brakes, his car bucking but still gaining fast on a wall of tangled human bodies, fighting, screaming, turning cars over. There were thousands of protestors; angry protestors, the number so much more than when he’d watched the march on TV. The mood had changed from orderly indignation and principled protest to a river of fury.
People were smashing shop windows, jumping on cars, rolling cars. Cops on horseback struggled with their mounts as they tried to shepherd the crowd. A burning effigy was alight and swaying from side to side, alarmingly unstable. Burning chunks of the figure were breaking away and falling, people were screaming, trying to run away, knocking one another over, stepping on fallen people, crushing them under foot. Mike’s car came to a stop just short of two men punching each other in the face, bloody, unsteady on their feet, but still slugging it out.
The hospital was only two blocks away. A whole two blocks away. Mike turned the car around, burning rubber, tried the next street and found more of the same. He glanced back at Cherry. She was still limp, her hair falling over her face now, one bloody hand hanging over the side of the seat. He was driving like an idiot, maybe causing more damage to Cherry and the baby. He punched his wrist device again, got no response this time. God! This couldn’t be happening!
He’d force their way through. He locked the doors and eased the car into the crowd, honking, nudging his way through, yelling, waving people aside.
“Mike?”
He glanced wildly around the car then back at his wife. Cherry was awake, pushing herself upright, blinking. “W-what’s happening? Where are we?”
“We’re almost at the hospital.”
“Why…?” She stared at the people crowded all around them.
It had been a mistake to stop.
Mike pressed on the accelerator. The car lurch forward, further angering the crowd. “I’ll get you there. Just hang on.” He tried the accelerator again. This time the crowd pushed back. Suddenly they were crawling all over the car, covering the windows, pounding on the roof, on the doors with their fists. Now the car began to rock, slowly at first, then abruptly, wildly, back and forth, its wheels leaving the ground on this side, then that. Cherry was screaming in terror for Mike to stop them, to do something, holding her belly.
Then just as abruptly, the rocking stopped, and the people climbed off and stood back as if inviting Mike to answer their actions with one of his own. He saw there was a motorcycle down in front of him he hadn’t seen before. Where the driver was he had no idea. Had he skidded into the crowd and laid it down? If so, where was the rider? What mattered was Mike could no longer move toward the hospital in this vehicle.
He’d carry her. He slammed the car into park and was out and into the back seat. He unbuckled his weeping wife, wrapped her tight with the blanket and brought her into his arms. She clung to him, hid her face against his neck. She weighed nothing, a sweet burden. He’d walk into hell if it meant Cherry and Tigg would survive.
He started up the street, shouting for people to stay away. Surprisingly, they did. A path opened before him and he made it through the first block quickly. Not so on the last block, with the hospital in his sights. Here, he was bumped into, shoved aside, barely able to maintain his footing. No one here cared about a man carrying a pregnant, bleeding out woman—people all around them were fighting or bleeding, falling, crawling, taking swings at passersby, falling some more, crying. The cops had backed off, were allowing the hoard to run themselves out. It was a gong show.
Mike clutched Cherry against him and staggered on, his steps faltering, sideways at times, when he almost lost his fight to stay on his feet.
Someone cuffed him across the side of his head and he saw stars. He stopped, swayed. Cherry was slipping now, and he couldn’t feel his arms any longer. He lifted his foot, dragged it forward, then the other. He croaked, “Let me pass. My wife is pregnant, she’s bleeding, she needs a doctor.”
No one cared. No one.
>
He took more blows. He didn’t stop. He lasered his blurring eyes to the hospital doors, willing himself forward.
He reached the hospital doors. People were packed here like sardines, pressing forward, wanting entrance, not for help, but to continue the destruction being visited upon the vehicles and cars and on each other on the street. Four burly cops were guarding the entrance, their side arms drawn. What the hell?
He shoved forward, using his elbows, his knees, his shoulders to push through the wall of bodies between Cherry and the help she needed. Bursting through, he almost fell to his knees, but he held Cherry and his son. He couldn’t drop them. Reeling, he gasped, “My wife is pregnant.”
Two of the cops rushed forward.
“She’s bleeding. Help her.” His legs folded under him. He collapsed on the sidewalk, watched the one cop pick Cherry up. She looked so tiny in the big cop’s arms as he rushed her inside, the other waving his weapon, warning others back. What the hell was happening in this world?
MIKE WOKE up to the sharp smell of disinfectant and floor wax. He woke up on a stretcher, in a hallway, on the floor, in the hospital.
It was quiet. It was hot. He was alone.
He looked around. Not alone.
Others like him were laid out in the hallway, their injuries obviously not considered serious. He staggered to his feet and went looking for his wife and son. How long had he been out? Reaching a nurse’s station, he saw the place was not quiet—the place was a chaotic hive of activity, everyone distracted, focused on some unnamed emergency. No one cared about him. He was on his feet, walking, functioning on his own. Good to go.
It made sense Cherry would be in maternity. He turned away and made for the stairs. He knew where maternity was—they’d done the tour with their doctor, had everything planned out. The overnight bag was still packed, waiting by the door back home, stuffed with all the necessaries. The book he was supposed to read to her between contractions. Tigg’s first outfit. The tiny blue booties Jessie had taught Cherry how to knit—a true labor of love. The granola bars in case Mike got hungry—the good kind, with real food value. Cherry had insisted. It had been so cute. He liked the junky, sugary ones just as well, more even. He wanted to weep at remembering their preparations.
Cursed Apprentice (Earth Survives Book 2) Page 23