by Britt Ringel
Maybe he wasn’t really after me, she hoped but kept her vigil. I suppose it’s possible that not everyone who looks at you is a mugger. After a final, furtive glance, she ducked into the alley.
The buzzard was hunched over a blanket, her back to the alley’s entrance. She appeared to be sewing.
“Just passing through,” Kat said merrily as she trotted toward the trash wall dividing the hag’s space from Rat’s.
The woman took several moments to grope for her chair leg. Once it was firmly in her hand, she twisted her torso toward Kat and with a wicked glare spat, “Get outta my space, you tramp!” She used her free hand to push off the ground and rose. “I’ll bash your head in!” The woman’s yellowed eyes tracked Kat’s path and she added, “Stay away from my man, you homewrecker!” She swung her club in a feeble attempt to brain her intruder.
Kat raised her right arm in defense but easily skirted the blow with an agile sidestep as she passed the woman. She reached the trash wall and began to climb.
Rat’s indignant reply roared over the pile. “I ain’t your man, you old goat!”
Kat carefully placed her free hand on the top of the chain link fence and, keeping her carton steady in her other hand, hopped over before the woman could reach her.
Beyond the wall, Rat was standing next to a large overturned barrel. A small rodent’s bloody body laid in pieces on the improvised table while its namesake stood over it with a small paring knife. Rat’s expression echoed the surprise in his voice. “Missy! Gotta say I’m shocked to see you.”
Kat checked the integrity of her carton as she walked toward him. “Call me Kat, Rat.” Her white teeth flashed as she heard her words. “I promise not to eat you.”
Rat chuckled as she stepped next to him. The sight on the drum would have made her retch twenty-four hours ago. Now, it was just life. “You’re not going to eat that raw, are you?”
“Nope. The fire gang will be starting up soon. I’ll cook it then.” Rat gestured toward an abandoned building along the alley, its length ignoring the trash wall dividing the territory. “A group of us risk using a room in there in the evenings. I drag this can over and the others take turns bringing wood or coal for the fire. We cook our food, boil water when we have to.” He pointed at a cardboard box lined by a tattered, blue tarp with a puddle of water in it. “It rained early last night so that water is still good for drinking. The rats will poop in it soon enough though and I’ll have to boil it.”
Kat licked her lips at the sight of fresh water. At least the massacre on the barrel had pushed away her thoughts of food.
Rat looked between his water supply and Kat and shook his head firmly. “No handouts, Mis—Kat. Giving out charity will just attract more people and eventually, one of them won’t take ‘No’ for an answer. You better be on your way.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want a handout, Rat.” The strength in her voice surprised her. “I wouldn’t take it if you offered one. When a mean, old bastard like you gives a young woman something, he starts to think maybe she owes him.” She placed the carton of booze on the barrel. “I’m looking for a fair business deal. You let me rent just enough room in your alley to sleep on and I’ll pay you with tonic.”
Rat’s eyes widened eagerly. He glanced at her with suspicion and then grabbed the carton and raised it to his face. The first sniff was tentative. The second one threatened to inhale the liquid into his nose. He groaned as he closed his eyes. “Ohhhh, I’ve been dreaming about this all day.” He placed the carton to his lips and drank in gulps. When he finished, he belched loudly and proclaimed, “You’re an angel of mercy, Kitten. A real lifesaver.”
Kat grinned triumphantly. “One carton’s worth a week. In return, I get to sleep here, gain access to your rainwater and can join the fire gang.”
“Two cartons for all that,” Rat haggled. “But I’ll throw in use of my fine cutlery.” He rotated the small blade in his hands. “Just not on me,” he joked.
Kat stared at the knife and its deeper meaning. Her throat tightened. Am I going to hunt rats and eat them? Am I going to become just like everyone else here in all the other ways too? The last twenty-four hours of her life had shown her the pinnacles humans were capable of along with their depths. She thought of Reynolds’ mercy and the lechery of the street preacher. I may not know who I am but I know who, and what, I want to be. Isn’t that the more important of the two? “Deal,” she agreed.
Kat poured the remaining contents of her carton into Rat’s empty bottle. She had plans for her own receptacle. She then pushed aside some of the trash in Rat’s alley and swept the ground with the sides of her shoes to clear a spot for her to sleep each night. She felt her confidence growing with every hour as she began to take command over a life that seemed so out of control less than a day ago. She wondered if her emerging personality was her old self breaking through her mental barrier or if “Kat” was truly a newborn.
Hours later, she leaned against the outside wall of the abandoned, brick building. She had been disappointed to learn that the fire gang wouldn’t accept her until she brought a night’s worth of firewood or coal. Rat had introduced her to rest of the gang though, all five of them. To Kat’s dismay, Starlet, the woman across the trash wall, was a member. Starlet’s contempt for the possible, new addition was unreserved but Kat had diffused some of the animosity by listening to the woman’s nostalgic telling of her days as a model even after the others had grown weary with her prattling and moved inside to make the fire. The other female, a short, middle-aged woman named Pru, seemed more open to Kat’s membership. The men, Patch, Mike and Johnny Tweeks, had been more than agreeable. Judging by their salacious looks, Kat assumed each of the men was eager for a new female member not only to further split the firewood duties but for ulterior reasons.
She let her eyes close and listened to the ruckus from the street beyond the alley. The hodgepodge of humanity passed by the entrance in pairs and singles. Few bothered to look down her alley with more than the paranoia that permeated Shantytown.
As tendrils of smoke carrying the smell of cooked meat wafted down the alley from the fire gang, Kat’s stomach complained about her shopping priorities once again. She drank water fetched from the blue tarp’s puddle with her carton as an offering to her hunger. It was poor solace but comfort nonetheless. A distant gunshot echoed down the street followed by a quick chirp from a security aircar’s siren. People crisscrossed the opening of the alley with greater urgency as Shantytown’s turmoil became a backdrop for the night.
Her eyelids drooped. Her grip around a new wire scavenged from the trash barrier relaxed and she entered the sleep of the dead.
Chapter 7
Kat awoke with a gasp. During the night, she had shifted from leaning against the wall to lying face down in the dirt of the alley. She sat up slowly, her back protesting a second night’s sleep without cushion. It was still dark but a purple hue infiltrated the black of the eastern sky. She ran her fingers through her hair, brushing dust and pebbles from the long locks that flowed to her left shoulder. Tonight, I will take a smoke bath, she promised herself.
A disjointed burst of snoring underneath Rat’s blanket reminded her of their deal and brought a faint smile. She reached for her carton of water, peered inside and scooped several insects from the surface with her fingers. She placed the carton to her lips and drank it dry. The cool water was refreshing.
Leaning against the alley wall, she stared at the empty container in silent contemplation. It would be another busy day of learning a new survival skill, Kat predicted in the near perfect quiet. Shantytown was almost peaceful in the stillness of the early hour.
After wiping the sleep from her eyes, she stood and stretched her aching muscles. A splash drew Kat’s attention to the tarp-water reservoir. A large mouse was bathing itself. The two made eye contact briefly before the mouse leapt from the cardboard box and disappeared into a crack in the brick wall.
Kat frowned at the water. It looks cle
an but it’s not worth the risk, she told herself and flattened her carton along its folds before tucking it between her pants and belt. She pressed a hand to her bandage. There was pain but not as severe as yesterday’s had been. She moved her hand directly over her stomach and patted. More food today, I promise.
She strode to the end of her alley and looked back. The narrow, filthy confines were beginning to feel like a sanctuary but a dark thought passed through her mind. Don’t get too comfortable, Kat. They’ll be looking for you. She shivered as her heart began to beat rapidly. A preternatural certainty confirmed her fears. They will never stop looking for you.
Spooked by the unnatural sense of foreboding, Kat moved quickly away from her refuge. She walked down nearly empty streets toward the Strip.
The silence of the neighborhood and gloom in the early light gave her journey all the frivolity of a funeral procession. Twice she questioned her sense of direction but after a half-hour’s walk, the first rays of the emerging sun dully illuminated the pavement of the Strip ahead of her. More people filtered onto the street including large groups of men and women trudging toward Eastpoint. She let the intimidating crowd pass before stepping onto the main thoroughfare herself. Her destination, though, wasn’t Eastpoint or Waytown but the great expanse in the opposite direction.
Kat walked down the road for at least as long as she had walked to reach the Strip. Far away, an eastbound mag-train raced toward the horizon as she found the outskirts of Shantytown. The sun barely hovered above the distant mountains. In front of her lay a desolate landscape of dust and sand, the monotony interrupted only by piles of refuse closer to the town’s boundary. Thirty meters ahead, the meager remains of a tree stump sat in a gaping hole. Kat thought an enterprising lumberjack must have spent hours digging the sandy dirt away from the roots in order to recover as much firewood as possible.
She squinted down the road that continued toward the morning sun. The mountains sat low on the horizon and although she couldn’t be sure, she believed the peaks were as desolate and bare as the bleak land they ruled.
She knelt on the pavement to tie her shoes more tightly. The simple task complete, Kat stepped off the side of the road at an angle and began to search.
The temperature rose with the sun’s ascent. The thunderstorms of two nights before had given way to a pristine sky. Kat kept her pace steady but slow as she traced a serpentine path. She resolved to turn back at the first rivulet of sweat as she traveled back and forth, selecting her next destination by simply spotting any aberration on distant ground.
Hours of fruitless marching later, she exhaled slowly while pushing the tip of her canvassed toe against a tiny sapling that had broken a few centimeters above the cracked earth. Another destination reached, another disappointment. The sun was four hand-widths above the horizon and the intense rays were burning her skin. She looked toward the mountains again, scanning for the next hint of plant life. Dark eyes skimmed the land for another target. There! The wavering image of some low brush teased her. Another mirage? she wondered.
Kat set her jaw and steeled her nerves. It was difficult to press deeper into the desert under the intensifying sun. Waytown was little more than a shimmering blotch halfway to the western horizon. It felt as though each footfall east was a step toward a dusty, barren grave.
The hint of plant life ahead gradually transformed into a promise. Kat marched onward, refusing to look away from that pledge for fear it would evaporate as easily as the morning’s dew. Ten minutes later, the promise became a reality and she hastened her pace.
When she reached the fragile, brown shrubs, she collapsed to the ground. She touched the leaves with uncertain hands. It’s really here! From her knees, she looked skyward and let burst an ecstatic cry of victory. The sound faded to nothing. A dry wind whipped the dust up around her in a hushed reply.
After dumping loose sand from her shoes, Kat set to work. She carefully inspected the leaves of the first plant, noting their shape and pattern. She smelled the brittle specimen before making up her mind. It’s the same plant that was in Doctor Reynolds’ jar on the top shelf, third from the left. She looked around the immediate area and counted four more meager bushes protruding from the fractured ground.
Kat moved from plant to plant. Three of the five were of the same type. A fourth contained leaves that matched those stored in a cigar box the doctor kept on her bottom shelf, second from the left. The fifth plant she didn’t recognize.
She pulled out her carton and unfolded it. She next removed the self-defense wire from under her belt and dropped the sharp, metal rod into the container. It stuck out considerably but it wouldn’t go missing. Fifteen minutes later, each plant had been stripped bare, their sparse leaves stacked in her carton. She was breathing heavily by the time the pillage was done and the neckline of her gown was drenched in sweat. It’s time to go back, she decided while pulling the sticky garment away from her body. It’s past time, but I need one more thing. She inspected her work as she caught her breath. The skeletal remains of the depleted vegetation forced a wave of guilt through her. Undeterred, Kat knelt at the nearest shrub and began to rock it back and forth near its base. It took several minutes to loosen the roots enough to release the plant from the ground. She was amazed at its tenacious hold. She repeated the process on the next, scraggly bush before taking a break on the scorched dirt.
Her self-imposed deadline for turning toward home had been in the morning, yet the sun glared directly overhead. She sweated dangerously now. Dark blue patches resided under her armpits and the entire gown’s back was plastered to her. Strands of hair clung to her wet face. She pulled at the locks and thought, I’ll have Doc Reynolds cut all my hair short on Friday.
A sharp pain pierced the skin near her ankle and she swatted reflexively at her leg. A second and third bite launched her off the ground. Dozens of large ants crawled over her shoes and bare calves. She slapped fitfully at the tiny creatures, the bites from the relentless army beginning to burn. Backing away from the uprooted scrub, she swept the last attacking remnants off but still felt the phantom sensations of ants crawling up her legs, the sides of her body, over her back and in her hair. An overpowering urge forced her to spend several more minutes sweeping her hands under her clothing to ensure she was free of the pests. Her ankle itched and burned simultaneously. She stomped over to the second broken plant she had freed, picked it up carefully and slammed its base repeatedly on the firm earth. Holding it at arm’s length, she inspected it for ants. A second thrashing gave her the confidence to tie it to her rope. She tied the first shrub she had unearthed to the other end and draped the middle of the cord over her shoulder before turning to face directly toward town. She was already dehydrated and swore her ankle was beginning to swell. The trip to Shantytown promised its own agony.
“You can do it, Kat,” she whispered. “One foot in front of the other.” She bowed her head to the brutal sun and counted each step while keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the ground in front of her.
Eleven thousand two hundred and eighty-seven steps later, Kat reached the pavement of First Street. It was well past midday and the pounding inside her head rivaled the thunder of any aircar engine cruising above her. She stumbled onto the main road and headed into Shantytown. Just one more hour to the alley, she told herself. She pictured the mouse sitting in the tarp-water reservoir grooming its narrow snout and licked her dry lips. I don’t care.
Kat made her way past ramshackle huts and lean-to sheds. Congestion on the road offered the illusion of safety but real concern took over when she finally turned off and ventured deeper into the side streets. It had not taken her long to adopt the persistent paranoia of those who eked out their existence in the slums.
With a failing vigilance, she detected no one following her. Thirty minutes later, Kat stumbled, exhausted, into the alley that had become her home. Rat was nowhere to be seen.
She sagged her aching shoulder to let the tied brush tumble to the ground. When
she staggered to the blue tarp, she dropped to her knees and dunked her face into the shallow water. Her nose brushed the bottom of the tarp but the warm water soothed her skin with a glorious sensation. A miserable thought flickered through her mind. All I have to do is inhale.
She pulled her face from the reservoir and brought cupped hands to her lips. The water ran down both the inside and outside of her throat in equal amounts. She sat still for several more minutes, taking sips without guzzling. Her ankle still burned and an inspection revealed five red bites above the top of her shoe. The crimson bumps looked angry and a light mottling of pink was spreading to connect the mounds. The tiny wounds ached and itched violently.
“I’m pretty sure in this case that itching does not mean healing,” she remarked hoarsely while balling her fists to resist the urge to scratch. She debated dipping her bare foot into the water reservoir but thought better of it. That’s gross, she told herself. I’m drinking that water. She snickered lightly. Maybe Mr. Mouse is welcome to bathe in my drinking water but a girl has got to draw the line somewhere.
The intensity of her headache was subsiding, flowing out like the tide. Tomorrow, she promised herself as she laid her back to the ground, I’ll start out earlier and not miss my turnaround time. She looked skyward and saw the faint outline of the moon in the bright, cerulean sky. “Maybe I should just go at night…” She closed her eyes and draped an arm over them to shield herself from the sun. Her body was still in rapture from the hydration. Even the compacted dirt seemed comfortable.
Chapter 8
Dark eyes fluttered open. Kat looked down the alley to the side street as traffic passed without concern. The natural light was turning dim. Did I fall asleep? Her head tilted up. The sun was no longer overhead.
“Dammit!” she cursed while rising to her feet. She had promised to haul water for Reynolds. How late am I? She launched herself toward the street at a ramrod pace. Just as suddenly, she skittered to a stop and looked back for the tangle of brush she had hauled from the desert. It lay, exposed, in the middle of the alley along with her carton. “So stupid of me,” she berated aloud.