by L. B. Carter
“Si, the seaway bridge.”
Oh. Henley let go of the excitement that had clenched her stomach. She had forgotten that Jen said there was now a whole sea forcing a schism between her and her family at the Pacific. Sea, not ocean.
“I will drop you there. I do not cross. It is a very busy bridge. You can find other help,” Lindy continued.
“And what are you going to do?” Henley inquired.
“Hopefully go back to my brother, right?” Nor said encouragingly.
“After I collect water.”
“Saltwater?” Sirena burst out, turning away from Henley and Buster at last. “For what?”
Henley could hear the shrug in Lindy’s voice even though she was still yelling. “Plumbing, cleaning, filtering into pure water.”
“You have a filter?” Henley was surprised.
“Evaporation.” Lindy’s answer was dry, disgruntled—as expected.
Repeated evaporation and distillation only got rid of so much brine. Interestingly, scientists had been working on that problem for ages with filters. The two substances were very hard to separate when mixed, intertwined.
Henley felt a little like that, overlapped as she was with Bus at the moment.
She wished she’d thought to steal some of the tech when she left BTI and bring it with them. “I will get a filter to you when all this is over,” she vowed their reluctant aide.
“Gracias.”
“De nada.”
“Habla Espaniol?”
“Un poco. We had a Spaniard in my lab. Mostly I know the swears. He wasn’t very good at welding, no matter how often I tried to show him.” She smiled fondly. Was she actually missing her colleagues?
“You said the bridge is a major hub,” Bus said, returning them to the reason Lindy was driving them. Henley wondered if he was ever not thinking about his mission. “Are there businesses, stores? Or just traffic?”
There was a silence, presumably as Lindy thought since Sirena was looking toward their driver. “I cannot remember, I don’t usually get too close to the bridge itself. I think a few small stores for provisions. Mostly traffic.”
“Provisions? How long is this bridge?” Nor sounded discouraged.
“Over two hundred miles, I heard a fisherman there say last time.”
“Two—” Henley balked, unable to fathom the amount of civil engineering that went into constructing such a causeway without losing integrity, especially if it sustained heavy traffic as Lindy said.
She felt Ace grow stiff against her.
“That is one of the narrowest parts of the seaway.”
Nor let out a whistle at Lindy’s news.
Lindy kindly gave them more information. “It is why this area was selected for the bridge location. You have to drive much farther north to Canada to find another crossing. It widens to the south. Mi familia, we took a boat up to get here.”
“Fisherman?” Sirena was interested. “What kind of boat did you—?”
“Then you need to drop us well ahead of the bridge,” Buster superseded, deterring any fascinated, friendly small talk.
“Fine with me.” They were no loss to Lindy, who would be happy to be rid of them and get back to her family, water supplies in tow.
“Wait.” Nor pushed Sirena into the dashboard to wedge his head in the little gap, making eye contact with Buster.
His irises were startlingly blue. Henley found herself falling a little into their depths. She could see why Sirena had caved last night. He was pretty cute.
“You want us to walk the two hundred miles across the bridge?” he asked incredulous.
“Barnacles,” Sirena breathed, pushing Nor back into his place so she could see.
The two had some of the brightest eyes Henley had seen. She was stuck with lame brown; even Buster’s eyes were deep in their darkness like a black hole.
“I am not spending that long on a bridge,” Sirena informed Buster, a brave assertion.
Henley leaned sideways further to look up at Buster. He had a tick in his jaw muscle, indicating he was starting to get annoyed with their resistance again.
In this instance, she agreed. “That’s too long to be out in the open with no easy evacuation route.”
Full crew mutiny.
The look Buster gave her was almost disappointed. Had she overlooked something? She wracked her brain, trying to think if she had missed some significant detail that enabled another option. Without having seen their upcoming obstacle, it was likely. Buster hadn’t seen it either, though.
“Obviously.”
Oh. Henley dropped her gaze from his. He was disappointed that she hadn’t considered he might already be aware of that concern. She had belittled his intelligence by explaining the issue to him. She closed her mouth.
Buster pulled a little away from her. “Henley is going to steal us another car,” he announced.
Discomfort was easy to redirect into rage. “Oh, I am, am I? You’re telling me what to do again? Making me break more laws?”
“Here we go again,” Sirena sighed and started to pull the window closed.
“We’ll check back in when we’re close. I trust whatever decision you come to,” Nor told them through the crack.
“Good luck.” Sirena got the window all the way closed and turned around, settling comfortably back in her seat, Nor turning to her.
Henley was sure the good luck was for Buster. He’d need it. She had felt like he was just starting to treat her like an equal in all this. Clearly, his superiority complex was strong enough to diminish her value even after she’d proved useful in identifying the drones, telling Lindy, who could more comfortably negotiate the crop fields, how to decommission them, generating fuel and jumping several cars already this trip. What more did a girl have to do to gain some recognition for her efforts? What did she expect from a misogynistic, antisocial, narcissistic computer geek? She’d been around enough of those to know they didn’t value women’s input or really anyone’s but their own, for that matter.
Ditching the argument, Henley swung back around, scooting as far from Buster as she could while remaining pinned in his embrace. She shut her eyes against the harsh glare of the sun, now higher in the sky, whose rays were reflecting as intended off the white cement, a marginal effort to increase the Earth’s albedo and decrease its temperature. Henley felt hot though as she began to plan.
As soon as they were dropped among heavy traffic, she was splitting.
∆∆∆
Lindy had been right; there were hundreds of people at the little town, if one could call it that, outside the bridge.
Henley was still walking a little strangely after so long in the truck bed, trying to keep up with Buster’s long strides. They weren’t in sync as they had been ambling down the gravel drive among fireflies under the moonlight.
The sun was hot, and the bodies crowded around them were stifling. The only benefit was that they easily blended into the mass after Lindy drove off, her rickety old truck turning a few heads, enabling them to slip into anonymity without ado. Everyone was moving about quickly, mostly concerned with their own errands, groups trying not to lose track of each other.
Nor had already snagged Sirena’s hand and was towing her, keeping up with Buster, Henley behind them all. Henley doubted their leader would reach back for her hand like he had under the threat of the drones. That was fine by her. She was still pissed.
Someone bumped into her, and Henley pulled her arms in, overlapping them across her stomach. It was a defensive move, and also protective, keeping her secret hidden. She had noticed the glove was rapidly deteriorating as she toyed with it over the remaining hours of silent tension in the truck after their short quarrel.
She hadn’t seen this many people congregated in such a small area since—since those few nights after the fire, after the hospital, when they’d been cooped up in a sports stadium with the other evacuees, relegated to a square footage smaller than her bedroom for her entire family, only two
cots, if the unforgiving material strung on a metal frame could be called that, between the… the three of them and Marlowe. That had been particularly cloying with the scent of smoke still lingering on everyone’s clothes, woven into people’s hair, children crying, mourning families sobbing over the loss of their everything, others also missing family members.
Here, the sounds were that of boats tooting horns in the distance, ferrying hordes across, westerners reuniting with easterners on arriving transportation, desperate salesmen calling out their goods at passersby, many of them looking similarly dusty to Henley’s troop—farmers, like Lindy, desperate to sell any of their last produce to afford necessary staples.
Henley was hungry. She still had no money and was loath to steal from such already hard off folks. Her privilege in what was beginning to feel like BTI’s luxury enclosure made her decision to diverge feel a little unwise.
Termination. That was the word that kept her on track. It was worth losing that sanctity, contradictorily, to get to Bromley.
“Keep up,” Buster snapped, and Henley picked up her pace, her lips tightening, traipsing in and out of the swarm of bodies like they were cornstalks, down the middle of the road.
Cars were parked on either side, between the homemade stalls and few ramshackled buildings that she suspected were the supply stores Lindy had mentioned.
She would hurry. She would do as he asked, hot-wiring someone’s parked car. Then she would vanish, without looking back. She had faith that Nor was capable of saving Sirena. That was his job, right?
“Here.” Buster announced, dipping to the right, sliding behind one of said sad buildings to a parking lot Henley hadn’t been able to see, her eye sight level with most others’ chests and chins. Being tall had its advantages.
That didn’t mean she needed him. So far, it had only been the other way around. That was an unhealthy relationship—asymmetric, parasitic. She was just slowing herself down sticking with him.
The lot was much quieter than the main street, relaxing Henley not a bit. The time was fast approaching for her to run. She wasn’t sure she could pull it off smoothly. Would they chase her? She doubted it; Buster had his own mission, and Sirena and Nor were trying to lay low. They wouldn’t do something to draw attention to themselves. It was easier to ditch those who had no means or motive to chase than it was to continue to dodge BTI as a large group.
“I need you three to stand guard while I work and let me know if anyone’s coming,” Henley said, proud that she kept the nerves from her voice. One of her palms was starting to sweat. Helpfully, the other did not, so she was able to get the door of a boring sedan unlocked and slid into the seat, pulling the door closed. She had no idea how fully-handed car thieves managed to handle and strip the wires with slimy fingers.
She got the paneling off, glancing up to see that Buster had taken his place next to her door, his wide back filling the window as he kept watch. She glanced to the other side where Nor’s and Sirena’s backs faced the other direction. The mirror confirmed no one was behind, the direction she would be heading first… and fast. She was hoping to reverse before the others could react.
Shoving her hands under the column, she froze. Literally. Her hand was locked, unresponsive to her mental stimulations that directed its movement.
What was—?
Oh, fudge.
Henley sat back, dropping her head against the headrest, eyes closing, her useless hand falling into her lap. It had been a few days since they’d left. And without electricity at the farm, she’d had no means to recharge her superpower.
She was once again handicapped.
For a few seconds, she tried vainly to manipulate the car’s wires with a stiff finger as leverage to push against with her working hand. It was no use. The dexterity simply wasn’t there. One opposable thumb only went so far.
Henley pushed open her door, slamming into Buster’s behind.
He stumbled a step then curled around, grabbing the door wider to slip into her seat—as if he’d get to drive when she was the one who started it? “What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing the car not running, looking back into her face.
“I—” she stuttered, unsure what to say. “I can’t.”
His brows dropped. “You did it before.”
“Yeah, well, not this time.”
His expression cleared, and his nostrils flared as he breathed out in exasperation. “Don’t argue with me. This benefits you, too, unless you want to gamble with hitch-hiking.” He raised a brow indicating what he thought of that ludicrous alternative.
Henley’s brows had snapped down. “I’m not arguing. I just can’t. Not this time.” She couldn’t explain further and, frankly, didn’t want to with his overbearing attitude.
“Don’t get high morals on me this time. It’s not like you’ve got a clean record anyway.”
“What’s going on?”
They both ignored Nor. “Thanks to you! I never wanted to build up my list of offenses. Fourteen in forty-eight hours is too many.”
“I’m helping you get home.” Buster said, voice deepening with anger.
“No, you’re not. You’re taking me somewhere you won’t tell me, for reasons you won’t tell me, and using me all the while. Well, I’m done. You’re on your own. Panel’s off. Good luck with the wiring. You’re smart; I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She waved her flesh hand toward the steering column, furious, pushed past Buster, and stalked off, going where, she didn’t know, but away from there, ignoring Sirena’s calls after her.
She needed to find somewhere to recharge, and then she was figuring out the rest of her trip by herself.
Sirena was wrong. Sometimes people didn’t need to be around other people; sometimes those people should be alone because they were manipulative and rude and didn’t deserve the help they’d gotten thus far.
∆∆∆
Trading her shoes for the use of an electrical outlet and the cashier’s phone charging cord at the nearest convenience store wasn’t ideal—after peering through the window to confirm he wasn’t an android. The tile was cold and grimy under her bare feet. It was the only thing she could really afford to lose.
She was not willing to remove the borrowed leggings and t-shirt, no matter how smelly, sweaty and dusty they were, and underwear was inconsiderable. If only she’d stolen Buster’s watch before she ditched him with the hot vehicle. Once again, it would have been constructive to have gathered useful items before leaving BTI. She had anticipated… Well, Henley wasn’t sure what kind of expedition she had anticipated. Perhaps a simple flight home? It hadn’t really crossed her mind; she’d been too worried about the success of the actual escape itself to think beyond that. It had been her life on the line.
A few people were browsing the lackluster aisles, which held sweets, fats, and caffeine: all the nutritional food groups. This place could do with some vitamins. Even the Stanley brothers’ meal-replacement powder would be healthier in terms of supplement for a sea-crossing journey.
Keeping her hair loose and chin down to hide her face, she’d picked the shabbiest of the huts that still had electricity, which would be less likely to afford BTI-sourced security. She hadn’t seen any. They were a luxury item, unlikely to be owned by most of the people here, it seemed.
The few bodies roaming the store, whom she also kept track of through her strands, were possibly dirtier than her, one mumbling under his breath about prices. They did seem high to Henley, but she had no perception of the relative effects of inflation during her time hidden away in Boston, up marking due to the location in a high-demand area, and overpricing at this particular establishment, one of a few in the area that actually carried sealed goods on shelves instead of piles of items in bins at the kiosks she’d passed in her rapid scramble to expand the distance between her and the Bus.
One young kid came up to the register next to her, bearing a single water bottle.
Henley pulled her hand tighter underneath her other arm, and turne
d away. The cord that stretched across the smudged glass counter top and into her folded arms hopefully appeared to just attach to a phone in her hand.
The bored cashier mumbled a random number.
“That much?” the kid asked, voice breaking. “Fine,” he grumbled. There was a lot of muttering, and Henley snuck a glance over. The kid was digging around in his pockets, pulling out change and placing it on the counter one by one, taking far too long in her proximity for Henley’s liking. He dropped a coin that bounced over to her feet.
She shuffled as far away as the cord would allow.
“No shoes?” the kid asked, stooping next to her toes to pick up the coin. She lifted one foot and rubbed it on the top of the other, self-consciously. He peered up at her, eyes distorted behind thick frames, curiosity in his open expression, not hostility, she told herself.
“No,” she said shortly and turned aside as he stood and went back to his task.
“Dangerous,” he told her. “You might step on something and get infected.”
Henley didn’t reply. She tried to flex her fingers. Not yet. She suspected the voltage here was quite weak.
“My mom’s a surgeon. She’s made me quite careful to avoid germs. I’m a little OCD about it.”
Henley gave a soft snort. She usually was too, but this was no lab. Even if she were to clean herself, she’d be dirty again in minutes, simply by brushing up against someone else in the crowd. Perfect hygiene was another luxury this part of the country lacked. “Good luck with that,” she couldn’t help muttering.
“I know,” he agreed, nodding with wide eyes. “This isn’t the best place. I was grateful to even find soap at the public bathrooms down the street. And let me tell you, you really do want that after being in there.” He gave an exaggerated shudder.
Henley peeked up at him. “Soap?” That could be her first step in independent travel—finally getting rid of all the grime from the terrible things Buster had forced her into: the T, other peoples’ cars, farm. It was more Reed’s fault they’d run out of power there, but she somewhat irrationally blamed Buster for much of the dust on her body since it had been collected when she tackled him to protect him from being seen by the drones. She shook her head. She had been too generous toward him, and he was ungrateful for any of it.